N'oublions Jamais  Never Forget
by AuntyL
Summary: Trapped in the past, Jon, Trip and Malcolm battle to survive while the remaining crew on Enterprise try to find a way to bring them home. Authors notes added.
1. Chapter 1

There have been some questions regarding the relationships in this story. Without giving too much away, the story isn't really centered on any one character, which is why I have labelled it so. It's going to be a pretty dark story with reflections about relationships, but not about them, if you get my drift. Remember, I've set this story twelve months after Terra Prime and a lot has changed in that time between our characters, so there will be a bit of everything, including het and slash (though the slash is not smut, just acknowledged).

I hope that clears up any misunderstandings and I hope you all continue to enjoy my story!

Anyhoo, this is in response to the history challenge at The Delphic Expanse and is set twelve months after Terra Prime.

The rating for this story will change as it progresses.

Chapter one contains minor spoilers for Canamar

Thanks to Honeybee for her patience in beta'ring this story for me.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely, positivity, nothing. CBS does. So I'm not making any money out of it, I'm just taking my favourite people for a spin around the universe...

* * *

His adrenalin raced through his body; his breath pounded in his ears. "Malcolm," Archer shouted over the cacophony of explosions raining around him. He pinned his eyes on his armoury officer who was sitting forward of him, a picture of focus, as the lieutenant frantically pushed buttons on his console.

"The shuttlepod's defence systems are no match for them, Captain," Malcolm called back in his clipped British accent that he always used when under pressure.

Archer rocked in his seat as another explosion shook the tiny shuttlepod, well tiny compared to the vessel that was trying to make them one with the stars. The unknown aggressors had appeared out of nowhere, firing instantly as they dropped out of warp, providing no quarter for the occupants of the shuttle to initially defend themselves.

Steeling his nerves, Archer desperately searched the space ahead. "C'mon..." he growled; willing Enterprise to appear. He had sent an immediate distress call as soon as they had come under attack, but Enterprise was still too far away to give any assistance.

Archer ducked when sparks flew out from above his head, pulling him back to the urgent matter at hand. "Trip, can you do something to avoid all this weapons fire?" he bellowed.

"I'm trying," Trip growled.

The captain was thrown from his seat when another barrage of fire hit the shuttle. He tried to grab the edge of his workstation, but missed and fell to the deckplating with a hard thud. He gasped at the sharp pain that shot through his elbow and up his right arm, but pushed it aside as he heaved a breath and dragged himself back into his seat. "Trip?" he yelled.

Trip righted himself in his chair. "Dammit," he swore then turned the shuttle into a nose dive to try and avoid another barrage. "How long till the Enterprise gets here?" he shouted.

"Two minutes, Trip!" Archer replied instantly. He didn't need to check the timing; he'd been constantly monitoring his scanners since the attack began.

"Trip, port side!" Malcolm roared a warning.

"Dammit!" Trip swore again, yanking the controls of the shuttle to steer them away from the danger.

Archer stared out the front view window and breathed a sigh of relief as the enemies red weapons fire went wide, missing the shuttle by only a few meters. The captain felt a little useless, sitting in the back of the shuttle unable to pilot or defend, but he trusted his officers to do the best they could and settled on providing a second pair of eyes and ears instead.

Archer turned back to his console. "If you can get behind them, Trip, Malcolm can take a shot at their aft ventral plating." He looked at his armoury officer. "See if you can hit something vital that may slow them down," he ordered. Not knowing what the ship's defences were, and with limited senor function ability, it was the best he could offer. Malcolm nodded in response as Trip started his maneuver.

Archer held on tight as the shuttle veered and he looked up quickly to check on his friend. Trip was bent over his controls, shoulders tight, his face, covered in sweat, was set in concentration, doing his best, Archer knew, to keep them out of the line of fire.

He turned his attention past Trip, as the engineer completed his turn, and felt a fist of apprehension knot in his chest as the shuttle dropped in behind the enemy vessel. He'd never seen this ship before. It was stippled with dark colours of black, green and brown, and shaped like a flat triangle. He briefly wondered what they had done to piss off these particular beings, who appeared to want them dead, but he decided it didn't matter. They were trying to kill him and his men, and he was resolute that wasn't going to happen. _Not today, not on my watch, and not if I can help it._

Archer shook himself out of his thoughts and turned his attention to Malcolm. "Fire," he ordered then waited as the lieutenant tapped his controls, discharging their phaser weapon. Archer held his breath and watched the bright beam cut across the expanse between the two ships and impact the enemy's outer plating. He lowered his head in despair. He knew the shot had not inflicted any damage, but he turned to Malcolm for confirmation anyway. His hopes of ever getting out of this alive plummeted when Malcolm met his eyes and shook his head, confirming what the captain already knew.

"No effect, Sir," he advised, bleakly.

Archer took a steadying breath. "Okay, the best hope we have of ever surviving this is to wait for Enterprise," he said, keeping his eyes fixed with the lieutenant.

Malcolm's eyes darkened. "But there still light years away, Sir," he answered, tersely.

"I know that, Lieutenant," Archer ground out. He pulled back from some of his anger. He knew now was not the time to lose his cool. The captain took another steadying breath. "We'll just have to do the best we can and fight it out until they get here," he told him, feeling more in control.

Malcolm held his eyes for a moment before looking away. "Aye, Captain," he replied, dutifully.

Archer turned his attention to his readings. "Trip, keep doing what you can to stay out of range. Mal..."

"Captain!" Trip roared.

Archer turned quickly. His heartbeat beat a little faster, when the enemy vessel loomed into view dead ahead, firing its weapon as it bared down on them. He felt the shuttle jerk as Trip pulled on his controls, turning them hard to port, but it was all for naught. The weapon impacted on the starboard side rocking the ship violently, causing fires to erupt around the shuttle, showering sparks of red hot heat down on the men below.

The captain's head spun when the momentum of the weapons fire sent the shuttle into an uncontrolled roll. He lost his tenacious grip, when the force of the shuttle, spinning violently, ejected him out of his chair. The air left his lungs, and his head bounced hard, as Archer hit the deckplating once again.

As he laid there, head pounding, body aching and trying to suck in air, the captain could hear groans coming from Trip and Malcolm as tiny explosions continued to flare all around him. He coughed to clear the smoke that had filled his lungs, and shook his head to clear it, before raising himself to his knees and quickly assessed their situation.

The shuttlepod creaked as it slowly drifted in space, engines obviously dead. The lights were dim, running on emergency power only, and heavy smoke hung in the static air from the small fires that were still smouldering. Archer could only hope that the damage he was seeing wasn't as bad as he thought it might be.

Malcolm stirred beside him, rising slowly to his knees, and Trip, the captain was relieved to see, was also waking; rolling onto his back, wincing and coughing as he did. "Everybody okay?" Archer rasped, still winded by his fall. At their nods and murmured 'aye sirs', Archer rose to his feet and stumbled over to the front of the shuttle. He came to a stop next to Trip's left shoulder. "What's our status?"

Trip shook his head. "We're dead in the water, Capt'n," he answered, despondently.

Archer squeezed Trip's shoulder and gave a short nod; he had already accepted that this was the case, but he had hoped for different news. He stared into his friend's eyes for a moment before looking past Trip and taking in the enemy vessel that loomed large in his vision. It had come to a halt in front of the shuttle, a predator waiting for the final kill. "What are they waiting for?" Archer asked no one in particular when the ship didn't fire.

"We've got no way of fighting back, or getting out of here, Capt'n, you'd think they would take their final shot," Trip offered, quietly.

Archer nodded his head in agreement but said nothing; his mind was working frantically to find a way out of their deadly situation. He turned to Malcolm.

The tactical officer was staring at his computer, banging away on the keyboard hard, as if by doing so, it would magically return to life and provide an answer. The captain smiled mirthlessly. "I don't suppose you can see if Enterprise is coming to the rescue?" he asked with just a tinge of hope. At Malcolm's tight shake of the head, Archer sighed. "Yeah, thought so," he said, leaning forward and gripping the back of the chair in front of him in frustration.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trip standing beside him, hands on hips, offering his unspoken support. He smiled inwardly at the gesture.

"Your orders, Captain?" Malcolm asked after a moment of silence.

Archer turned, leant up against the chair, and faced the lieutenant. "We should do what we can and destroy anything of use. I don't want them exploiting any of our technology." he said, rubbing the back of his neck to ease his tension.

"Then what?" Trip asked.

Archer looked out at the enemy vessel for a moment, his anxiety itched at his skin. What he was about to ask them to do would not sit well with his officers, but he was determined that they would all survive this encounter. He straightened his shoulders and turned back to his friends. "Then when they board us, we don't put up a fight," he ordered.

Archer could tell that Trip was about to argue that point, so he held up his hand to head off any debates. "Better alive and get away, than dead, Trip," he said bluntly. He nailed his chief engineer with an unwavering look to make sure he got the message loud and clear. When Trip threw his head back and blew out a puff of air, Archer knew his friend had acquiesced. "Now..."

"Captain, they're moving above us," Malcolm interrupted, urgently.

Archer spun around and stared as the ship hovered menacingly above. "Remember, no..."

Suddenly, bright light filled the cabin, sending spears of pain flashing behind the captain's eyes. He heard Trip and Malcolm cry out, and grabbed Trip's arm to support him, but lost his grip when a thousand knives seemed to burn into his body. He roared in agony and fell to his knees.

Archer's lungs felt on fire as the intensity of the light increased. He rolled onto his side and managed to force open his eyes in time to watch Trip succumb, and fall to the deckplating next to him, unconscious. "Trip," he gasped, reaching out to his friend but stopped, and grab his head tighter, when the fire multiplied in his body.

In an effort to ease his pain, Archer curled into a ball and tried to breathe, but it was futile. The agony was unrelenting. When darkness finally came to meet him, Archer stretched out his hand and wrapped his fingers tightly around Trip's wrist.

As his head exploded in pain, and his world started to turn black, Captain Jonathan Archer thought he heard the sweet voice of Ensign Sato calling his name...

* * *

There was an unnatural silence on the bridge as the Enterprise dropped out of warp.

"They've taken heavy weapons fire, Commander," Ensign Zabel, Malcolm's replacement at tactical, advised evenly.

Commander T'Pol, sitting rigidly in the captain's chair, gave a curt nod and turned to Ensign Sato. "Try hailing them again, Ensign" she ordered calmly, though this was in deep contrast to what she was... feeling.

Hoshi shook her head. "I've been trying, Commander, no one's responding," she advised coolly, although T'Pol could see something deeper than worry growing in the young woman's eyes. _But now was not the time to contemplate its meaning_, T'Pol thought. She was also worried about a certain commander.

T'Pol nodded her head slightly at Hoshi in encouragement. "What about life signs?" she asked, turning her attention back to the shuttle.

"None, Commander," Ensign Mayweather answered, grimly, from his place at the helm.

They had gone to high warp as soon as they had received the shuttlepod's distress call, but it had taken time for them to arrive. Now as Enterprise slowed, and approached the drifting shuttlepod, she wondered if they were too late.

T'Pol drew in a calming breathe. They had made the initial mistake, once before, of believing their officers had perished, but as it had turned out, they had been on board a prison ship bound for Canamar. T'Pol stared out the viewscreen. She would not allow anyone to make that assumption again. "Scan the area for any ships within a million kilometre radius," she ordered then turned to Ensign Zabel. "Deploy the grappler and bring Shuttlepod One into the launch bay."

After Ensign Zabel acknowledged her order with a nod, T'Pol studied the young crew on the bridge. She could see the worry and fear etched on their faces, but they had been together for many years, fought many battles, this was just one more. Her eyes grew dark with determination as she stood from her chair. "The captain, commander and lieutenant are out there," she told them with conviction, though she was careful to mask the concern that was building up inside her. She clasped her hands firmly behind her back and fixed her eyes on Hoshi. "And we shall find them."

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING** this chapter contains distressing scenes and some strong language...

I should also explain what the challenge is. Oops, should have done that before now! *blushes*

Anyhoo, in short The challenge is to write an Enterprise story set in a historical time period that was assigned to me, with a significant part of the story taking place on Earth (not on a planet with a similar culture). The period I received was WW1 Europe.

* * *

The first thing Captain Archer became aware of was that he was lying on his back, his head ached, and his body tingled. It wasn't a good tingling, more like pins and needles. _Pins and needles that burned_, he thought, detached. His head felt fuzzy, his mind confused. _Why would my body feel like its burning?_

He felt something soft under his hand, something he held with a death grip. He tried to flex his aching fingers. _Why that phrase? Death grip..._

The captain licked his dry lips and coughed slightly as he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times before his vision cleared enough for him to make out a prone form, silhouetted against the near darkness next to him.

He stared at his own hand for a moment before moving his eyes up the familiar blue uniform sleeve and settling on a face he knew so well. "Trip," he tried to call, but his throat felt so parched that he could only rasp the name.

Questions raced through the captain's mind. He gave his friend a shove to try and stir him. _Why is Trip unconscious? Why was I?_ "What the hell happened?" he whispered.

Suddenly everything came crashing back. The attack, the pain, the screaming, his body being torn apart...

"Trip..." Archer flew upright and wished right away that he hadn't. His head spun and his stomach lurched. He raced to his hands and knees and lost whatever contents he had in his stomach. His head pounded, a jackhammer, pummelling into his skull with each heave he made.

After a final retch, Archer spat, cleaned his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform then wiped his face with his hands. He gulped in oxygen to steady himself, before shifting his attention Trip.

Still feeling unsteady, Archer crawled slowly over to his unconscious friend. As he neared, he quietly begged that the commander was still alive; he was awfully still. He placed a hand on Trip's chest and relaxed when he felt his lungs rise slightly under his touch. "Trip," he attempted again. When he didn't stir, Archer tried once more. "Trip," he called louder, shaking his body more forcefully.

"Wha..." Trip moaned as he rolled onto his side.

"Just take it easy for a minute," Archer told him, soothingly. He watched his friend carefully, waiting nervously, to see how he would handle the waking part. _Not good_, he thought, wryly, when Trip rolled onto his hands and knees quickly, and threw up violently. Archer rubbed his back. "Yeah," he sighed, "waking up's a bitch," he said without humor.

Trip gave one last dry heave then sat heavily on the ground. He wiped his mouth. "No kidding," he grimaced, resting his head on his curled up knees.

As Trip recovered, the captain took the moment to look for Malcolm. He couldn't see him in the immediate vicinity, but he knew that meant nothing. "Malcolm?" he called. Receiving no an answer he focussed back on Trip. "Feeling any better?" he asked, squeezing his shoulder.

Trip nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, a bit," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell happened?" he mumbled, squinting at the captain.

"I'm not sure," Archer replied, deciding to finally get up. The captain placed his hand on Trip's shoulder, to steady himself, when he swayed slightly as he stood. "The last thing I remember was being under attacked," he added as he checked for Malcolm again. Still not seeing him, he looked back at Trip. "Then pain. After that? Nothing." He winced and rubbed the back of his neck.

With Trip's pallor improving, Archer pulled out his communicator and flipped it opened. When the familiar chirp didn't sound, he closed it shut and tried again. When nothing happened the second time he turned his attention back to his friend and held out his hand. Without so much as a question, Trip grabbed his wrist and pulled himself upright. The captain held onto him for a moment when he staggered. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, studying the young man closely before settling on his face.

Trip held his eyes. "Yeah, Capt'n, just feel a bit woozy," he said, flexing the muscles in his neck. He held out his hand. "Let me have a look."

Archer didn't see what Trip could do in the near darkness, but he handed over the communicator nonetheless. While he fiddled with the device, the captain took another look around. There was some light coming in through broken windows, but not enough to really illuminate the room.

Archer glanced at Trip before setting off to explore. He didn't get far when his foot made contact with something solid. Bending down, Archer could see it was a lantern, similar to what was used on Earth. He picked it up, took a sniff, and smelt the familiar odor of oil.

Archer combed the area around his feet until his eyes settled on what he was looking for. He walked over, retrieved a box, and struck a match to light the lamp. In the ghostly shadows thrown off by the lantern, he immediately got a better look at their surroundings.

It was a living room of some sort, littered with shattered bricks and glass, broken beams and ruined furniture. Dust and dirt covered everything. A fireplace sat inlaid on a wall to his right, with half burned timber resting on ashes and coals. Left of the fireplace was an open door, and judging by the wooden stove and a table, with dishes containing uneaten food, it was obviously the kitchen.

Archer turned in the opposite direction and inspected the rest of the room. On his right was a staircase, broken and scorched in places, bordering a wall leading upstairs to where, the captain presumed, the bedrooms were located.

Near the bottom of the stairs was a closed door. Another door sat off to his left which was hanging precariously on its hinges. With everything so broken and destroyed, the captain wondered what had happened.

After a little more scrutiny, Archer returned his attention back to Trip and smiled. The engineer's face was buried close to the communicator, eyes almost cross eyed, as he inspected the device. "Any luck?"

Trip looked up and shook his head. "All the circuitry is fried," he said handing back the device.

Archer put the communicator in his sleeve pocket and nodded. "Okay." He took one more look around him before turning back to Trip. "We should look for Malcolm," he said heading for the kitchen.

"Capt'n," Trip called after him.

Archer stopped and faced his friend.

"Why don't you check up and I'll check down," Trip offered.

Archer eyed the area. "It's pretty dark down here, Trip, and there's only one lamp."

Trip shrugged. "It'll be fine." He indicated to the broken windows. "There's enough light for me to see."

Archer still wasn't sure. He wanted to locate Malcolm as quickly as he could, his concern growing that his armory officer was badly injured or dead. But after the attack by the mysterious aggressors, and not knowing where the attackers were, he didn't want to be separated from Trip, especially in this unknown environment. He stared at his friend. "I don't know," he said.

Trip put his hands on his hips. "Capt'n, the quicker we find Malcolm, the quicker we can get outta here and find out what's goin' on," he urged.

Still not liking the idea, Archer knew he made sense. "Okay," he finally said, "but be careful," he warned, and set off for the stairs.

"Always am, Capt'n," Trip told his back.

Archer twisted his upper body, shot Trip a dry smile, then proceeded on his journey. As he mounted the steps carefully, he noticed paintings hanging crooked on the wall. In the eerie light thrown off by the lantern, he could make out the painted portrait of a young family.

He ran his fingers over the image of a little girl, no more than four years old, Archer guessed. Her eyes, dark blue, were full of curiosity and openness. Her little snub nose was in contrast to her mother's whose nose was shaped into a slender rise, perfectly balancing the rest of her face.

He felt the ridges of the oil, used on the canvas, under his fingers as he journeyed across to the woman who held the child firmly on her lap, then over to the father who stood rigidly behind them. Jon stared at their features. _So much like humans_, he thought.

The mother's hair was short, but stylish, and parted in the middle, with tight curls that ringed her long face. She wore a sky blue loose flowing dress, buttoned all the way to her neck. Her bright red lips were lifted in a gentle smile.

Archer's eyes drifted to the father. He was wearing a dark, slimline suite, also buttoned to the neck, with a white collar sticking out stiffly at the top. His hair, like his wife's, was parted in the middle, though it looked to Archer that a ton of oil had been used to keep the shape of it in its place. His chin jutted out, just slightly, giving the air of someone who was use to being in charge, but there was something about his manner that radiated warmth and protection to the captain.

Archer smiled when his eyes fell back on the child. Her hair, much like her mother's, was offset by a huge pink bow, which matched the band that ringed her hips on her little white pinafore dress. He ran his fingers over the image of the little girl again and pondered what games little children liked to play on this planet.

He tore his eyes away from the child and studied the next picture on the wall. In this one there was a much older couple than in the previous painting. _Grandparents_, Archer speculated. The woman sat in a hard back chair, the man stood directly behind. Both had stoic looks on their faces that the captain thought would give T'Pol a good run for her money.

Archer glanced once more at the family then, focussing his thoughts, climbed the last few steps quickly and carefully. When he reached the top he looked around. It was shaped like a square with only three walls fitted with doors, the fourth, adjacent to the stairs, overlooked the area below. The doors to the rooms in front of him, and to his right, were slightly ajar, the one to his left was wide open. Archer made his way to the door on his left.

As he entered he knew that this was the parents' bedroom. A double bed, positioned in the middle with linen thrown askew, was testament to that. Here, another oil painting, hanging crooked, lined the wall. It was of a cottage bordering a dirt road, surround by hedges, trees, and a field of red flowers. It was remarkably similar to images he had seen in art galleries on Earth.

Archer shifted his attention away from the painting to the rest of the room. A stand, with a wash basin and jug which was empty and covered in grime, stood under a broken window. On another table in the corner, black and white photos of the family laid cracked and scorched.

Like downstairs, everything was covered in dirt, bricks, shattered timber and glass. Again, the captain wondered what had happened but decided to leave that question for another time. He quickly checked under the bed and in the closets. Not finding Malcolm, he took one last look around, then made his way the second room.

He pushed the door open slowly and immediately recognised it as the child's bedroom. A multicoloured blanket, embossed with angels, laid crumpled on the bed. Toys and books were littered around on the carpet, and a worn teddy bear, covered in dirt, rested on a pillow.

Perched against one of the walls was a small table adorned with smashed plastic cups, sauces, and various pots. The table was nested by tiny chairs with small dolls reclining in place, as if waiting to be served afternoon tea.

Archer walked over to the foot of the bed and picked up what looked like a child's book. Unable to see properly, he made his way over to another small table, placed the lamp down, and flipped through the pages. It was written in an alien language, so he couldn't understand the story, but the colourful images of castles and fairies, unicorns and forests, again struck him as human, something mothers would read to their children on Earth.

The captain raised his eyes from the book and smiled wistfully at the evidence of a young girl at play. There had been a time when he wanted children, but that time had passed, especially with the Romulan threat lingering. Now he lived his dreams through the stories his crew would tell, and Trip; who would spin yarns about his sister's antics when they were growing up.

As his eyes floated to a colorful picture on the wall, he thought back to one of the photos he saw in the parents' room. It was a snapshot of mother and daughter enjoying a special moment. The captain contemplated what dreams and hopes the mother held for her young child for the future.

Shaking himself out of his daydreams, Archer walked back to the bed and placed the book back down then set out to continue his search. He knelt down beside the bed, threw the cover up onto the mattress then stopped in surprise at the unexpected sight.

Clothes, books, toys and, what looked like a half eaten, rotting, apple, lay discarded under the darkness of the mattress, hidden from searching eyes. An amused smile broke out on his lips. "Some things are universal," he laughed softly as he raised himself from the floor. He stumbled over a toy as he quickly inspected the rest of the bedroom. When he came up empty, Archer made his way to the last room on this level.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the captain knew he wouldn't find anything. It appeared to be a utility room of some sort. A sewing machine, remnants of material, and general household items, filled every nook and cranny. A crib, sitting in the centre, was empty but had baby blankets draped over the side. A hasty inspection confirmed what the captain already knew. Malcolm wasn't here either.

His mind threw up questions as he headed back downstairs. Who attacked them and why? Where were they and why were they here? Where was Malcolm? He didn't have any answers, and his apprehension was increasing as to the lieutenant's whereabouts.

"Shit," Trip's angry voice echoed from downstairs.

With his mind full of visions of Trip standing over a lifeless Malcolm, Archer quickly and, as carefully as he could, made his way down the rest of the stairs. "Trip!" he shouted as he crossed the living area.

"In here," Trip yelled back.

Archer raced for the kitchen. "What is it?" he asked, anxiously, as he burst through the door where Trip stood rubbing his knee.

Trip looked up and smiled ruefully. "It's okay," he answered. He stopped massaging his knee and raised a stool. "It's just taking time to get my night vision," he added turning the stool around in his hand.

Archer leaned heavily on the door jamb in relief. He frowned as he watched Trip study the piece of offending furniture, and wondered if he was really okay. Their transport here hadn't exactly been pleasant, he was feeling the residual effects himself, but with everything that had happened recently, he thought Trip might still be suffering a reaction. "You sure you're okay?"

Trip nodded. "I'm sure," he replied absently as he put the stool back down. "Anything?" he asked, casting his eyes around the room.

Archer shook his head. "What about you?" When Trip shook his head in reply, the captain took one last look around. For him, it was obvious Malcolm wasn't there. "Let's try outside," he ordered turning for the door.

As soon as they walked out into the cold night air, the captain wished he could turn around and go straight back inside. He heard Trip swear but his own mind was having trouble absorbing the devastation for him to respond.

Bodies, dozens of them, laid scattered around the ruins of buildings and smouldering fires. Men, women and children, buried under rubble or lying on the deserted streets, bloodied or burnt beyond recognition.

"Where we are, Jon?" Trip whispered in horror.

The captain didn't notice the drizzling rain when he dragged his attention away from the distressing sight and met Trip's eyes. With his mind reeling, all he could do was shake his head in answer. He had no idea. All he knew was that he wanted to find his armory office and go home to _Enterprise_.

Archer turned away from Trip. "Look for Malcolm," he ordered, gruffly then placed the lamp on the ground, and got down to the business of searching for his armoury officer.

As he combed the area, Archer tried not to breathe in the stench of death, tried to avoid looking too closely at the bodies, he didn't want them haunting his dreams. But he knew it was too late for that. The images and smells were already burning their way into his memory.

He twisted his head slightly when he heard Trip curse under his breath. "You okay?" he asked, softly.

Trip put his hands on his hips and dropped his head. "Yeah," he sighed then looked up at the captain, his blue eyes filled with sadness. "It's just... you know..." He waved his hands in a helpless gesture.

Archer smiled grimly and nodded. "I..." His voice trailed off when something caught his attention. Walking over to take a closer look, the captain felt his brain tilt and he wanted to scream.

Lying on their sides, no more than five feet away, were the bodies of the family whose life he had just had a glimpse of. The mother had her arms wrapped around her child; the father had his arms and body encasing both. Dried blood had set on the father's back, which was riddled with holes. Dried blood was also visible on the young child's winter coat. Her lifeless blue eyes, frozen open in fear, stared at nothing. Jon groaned.

"What is it?" Trip asked. "Is it Malcolm? Do you see Malcolm?"

Archer just heard Trip's panicked voice over the rushing sound of blood pounding in his ears. For a moment he couldn't answer, his mind was too busy screaming at the injustice of a young life cut way too short.

He remained transfixed for a few seconds more on his grisly find, before he dragged his eyes away from the nightmare. "No. No it's not," he mumbled, turning away from the heartbreaking scene, but Trip grabbed his arm, stilling him, before he could move far.

"Where are you going?" Trip asked.

The captain stared at Trip's hand, then into his eyes. He didn't know what to tell him. Malcolm wasn't in the building they had just searched, he couldn't see him among the dead, and a young child and her family, laid slain in the ruins of a town that he knew nothing about. "I don't know, Trip," he answered walking away.

"Capt'n?" Trip called.

Archer stopped and closed his eyes at the plea he could hear in Trip's voice. He didn't want to admit to his friend that he didn't have an answer, didn't want to admit that, as the captain of a starship, he was at a loss as to what to do. He straightened his back and kept walking.

"What about Malcolm?" Trip growled.

Archer spun and rushed back. "I know," he said as calmly as he could. However, in the back of his mind, the memory of their attack was still fresh, and he thought there was a strong possibility that their assailants were the ones responsible for this massacre. He grabbed hold of Trip's arm and squeezed. "But I don't like the feel of what's going on around here, and we should leave," he added, pulling the commander with him.

Trip wrenched his arm free. "What if Malcolm's one of them?" he hissed, keeping his eyes fixed with the captain's as he pointed to the decomposing bodies.

Archer refused to look where Trip was pointing, he didn't think he could bear seeing the child's bloodied body once more. "I don't like this anymore than you do," he growled in return.

Seeing Trip wasn't going to relent, Archer blew out a frustrated breath. "We can't even be sure if he's here, Trip," he tried to reason, then looked around quickly before staring at the commander's troubled eyes. "He could be anywhere."

"Jon," Trip pleaded.

Archer understood Trip's distress; he was also struggling with the very idea of potentially abandoning Malcolm to this horrid fate. "I'm sorry," he said, placing his hand back on Trip's arm. "We'll come back later. I promise," he told his friend gently.

Trip glared at him for a few more seconds before throwing his head back in defeat.

Archer nodded. "We better go," he told him, quietly, leading them away.

They had only taken a few steps when Archer heard a loud bang, then a whistling sound coming from above. He stopped and raised his eyes to the night sky. His heart hammered hard against his chest when he recognised the weapon. "Trip!" he yelled as he flung himself at his friend.

He heard Trip grunt, and felt the air leave his own lungs, when they hit the ground hard. He covered Trip's body with his own then threw his arms up to protect his head, when the explosion erupted close by. As the blast expanded, noise roared in the captain's ears, heat kissed his skin, and he felt the sting of debris hit his back.

Archer could feel Trip's body trembling under his, could just make out his ragged breathing, as they remained pinned down. He did his best to protect them both when more explosions engulfed them. Some close, some not so close, but each one caused him to flinch, as it did Trip.

"What the hell's going on?" Trip yelled.

_Fucked if I know_, Archer thought, wildly. He dared to lift his head, and struggled to control his panic when, over the tumult of explosions, he could make out angry shouts nearing. Then something familiar, something he had only heard a few times, the rat-tat-tat of gunfire. His heart jack hammered. "We need to get outta here," he ordered, fiercely.

Not waiting for a response, the captain flew off the ground and grabbed Trip by his uniform at the scruff of his neck. "C'mon," he urged, shoving his friend in front of him.

"Where are we goin' to go?" Trip shouted as they broke into a desperate run.

"I don't know, Trip," Archer yelled as he scanned the area frantically. All the buildings they ran past were in ruins. The gaping holes and collapsed roofs were proof that it wouldn't be a good idea to take refuge in any on them. And then there were the explosions, and angry voices that were closing in on them, to consider. "But we need to find somewhere safer than here," he shouted.

Trip threw his hands over his head when another blast erupted to their right, raining down rocks and dirt. "I'm with ya," he yelled, picking up speed.

Despite the cold air, sweat trickled down the captain's back. His lungs craved for oxygen, and his muscles burned from the extra effort he was putting into running from the danger. His harsh breathing, and pounding pulse, fought for supremacy in his head. His mind was in turmoil.

Archer attempted to block out the sounds of people yelling and screaming, and of the endless explosions that persisted all around them, causing his ears to ring with every thunderous boom. He cast a quick look at Trip and could see the same determination set on his face.

As they ran through the destroyed town, Archer wiped the dust from his eyes, and tried to ignore the sight of more dead bodies that lined the deserted streets. But he couldn't avoid the smell of rotting corpse, and the acrid odour of fires and cordite that filled the air.

"Jon!" Trip called.

The captain pulled up short and spun around. "What?" he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Trip slowed and bent over. "I think it's stopped," he said, gulping in air. He lifted his head and met Jon's eyes. "Well, I don't hear anything close by."

Jon closed his eyes and listened. He could still hear voices in the distance, but the barrage of bombing had stopped. Realising that Trip was right, he followed his example by bending at the waist, rested his hands on his knees, and dragged in oxygen. His ears still rung and his heart still pounded, but with the immediate danger passing, he forced his body relax. After a few short moments, he straightened and examined their environment.

There were more destroyed buildings, homes and business, standing in ruins. He was sickened to see more people lying sprawled in the streets. Some were twisted at odd angles; all were exposed to the elements.

As before, women and children were among the dead, but most of those lying bloodied and broken were men in uniform. A number of them were in a bluish grey uniform, the majority, however, were wearing light brown. Archer tore his eyes away from the macabre scene and continued scouting the area.

They were near the edge of the town. He could make out what looked like a railway station, similar to Earths, and beyond that a forest, with its trees almost stripped bare of leaves. Maybe...

"Where to now?" Trip asked, breaking the captain's concentration.

Jon turned to Trip. "I think we should head to the forest," he told him, pointing to the woodlands.

Trip studied the horizon. "That's a lot of open ground, Jon," he said looking back to the captain.

Jon could see his concern, he shared it, but he didn't know where else they could go. "I know, Trip," he said, turning to check the route that they had just travelled. The sounds of gunfire had started again, as had the explosions, and both were moving closer to their position. He looked at Trip and could still see his reluctance. "I don't think that we have any other choice." Without waiting for an answer, Archer led them to what he hoped was safety.

As they approached the station, Archer spun at the approaching sound of desperate and angry voices, underscored by the noise of gunfire - then the ominous whine of a missile heading in their direction.

He looked at Trip. No words were needed. Both men bolted.

They were only a few meters away when Jon heard the whine of the missile getting louder. "Hurry, Trip!" he urged.

With a final burst, the two friends reached the station just as the bomb impacted the ground behind them. They stumbled and fell, but quickly got back to their feet and then, side by side, flew up the steps, ran across the platform, then scrambled over the edge and hunched down against the wall. They buried themselves under their arms as the blast blew out.

"You have got to be kidding me," Trip screamed over the roar.

Jon lowered his arms and looked at Trip, whose face was filled with disbelief. "I wish," he yelled back then drew Trip further under the landing when another bomb exploded.

After the rocks and dirt stopped falling, Jon waited for the barrage to continue. When it didn't, he risked a look over the parapet. He could still see fires in the distance, could still hear gunfire and angry voices, but for the moment it seemed that the bombing had ceased again. He turned and collapsed back down to the ground.

He knew that they shouldn't stop, but for a few moments, all Jon wanted to do was catch his breath. So he leant up against the wall and closed his eyes. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing; his and Trip's, and felt his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, his mouth was awfully dry. He tried to get some saliva going, but after a few moments, he realised that was a futile activity. "What I wouldn't give for a sip of water," he rasped.

Trip chuckled. "I'd give my left arm, right 'bout now," he replied.

Archer grinned. "Just your left?" He opened his eyes and looked at his friend.

Trip's hair was plastered down by sweat, his face was flushed, but there was still a small twinkle left in his eyes that the captain was relieved to see. So far, their journey into this unknown world had been rough, and he had been concerned about how Trip would cope. _After all_...

"Jon, stop worrying 'bout me," said Trip, interrupting Archer's thoughts.

Jon smiled. "Nope!" he told him, maintaining his eye contact. As his studied his friend's face, Jon realised just how far their friendship had come since they met all those years ago. He knew he'd do anything for Trip, just as Trip would do anything for him. But there was a time, during their mission to find the Xindi, where they weren't so close.

Then Trip's life fell apart twelve months previously, and with Jon still coming to terms with his actions in the Expanse, they had reconnected, this time building a more solid friendship. A bond that was difficult for anyone to break.

Jon tore himself out of his thoughts, and broke his eye contact quickly, when frantic shouting, and the sound of heavy footsteps, marching toward their hiding place, hit his ears. He chanced another look over the wall and could see shadows quickly approaching. He dropped down again and looked at Trip. Fear was deeply etched on his face, but Jon saw unquestionable trust in his eyes. "We have to get out of here!" he said, urgently.

"Couldn't agree more," Trip replied with a grim smile.

As they continued to stare at each other, the unspoken passed between them. Trip smiled knowingly and nodded his head. They took deep breaths, rose in unison, and ran.

At first Jon thought that they would make the distance undetected, until a flare lit up the night sky and exposed their bodies against the backdrop of the forest. Suddenly a shout resounded directly behind them, and the night exploded once again.

They both put on extra speed as bullets flew past them, kicking up grass and mud as they impacted the ground at their feet.

Jon's mouth went even dryer when he felt a bullet buzz past his ear. He was about to yell for Trip to go faster when he stumbled. At first he thought he had tripped over a rock, but then searing pain pierced his back and traversed his body, burning its way through, until it blew out the other side through his stomach.

He heard Trip yell, felt his arms catch him as his legs crumbled, then his body being lowered gently to the ground. He could see Trip's lips moving but he couldn't hear his voice. Jon tried to say something, but he couldn't force the air out of his lungs to form the words. He felt Trip hold him tighter, this time hearing his order to stay with him. Jon didn't think he could.

The captain looked up through blurred vision and stared into Trip's panicked eyes. As the shadows surrounded him, he forced out his last command. "Keep going, Trip..."

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note:

My apologies for the time it's taken for Chapter 3, hopefully chapter 4 won't take as long...

* * *

The colors of the Starfleet symbol reflected on T'Pol's face as she stared at the screen in front of her. She had just completed her report to Starfleet and was now preparing herself for the briefing.

Admiral Gardner wasn't pleased to hear about his missing officers but had nonetheless offered extra manpower to help in the search. T'Pol had gracefully turned down his offer, stating that until they knew for certain what had happened extra resources were not required for the moment. The admiral had reluctantly agreed and order the commander to keep him updated.

T'Pol picked up the PADD as she stood, but dropped it when a plea from the past echoed in her ears.

_"Why are you doing this, T'Pol?"_

She inhaled sharply, sat heavily back down in the chair, and placed her hands on the desk to steady them.

_"We cannot continue..." her voice replied._

T'Pol closed her eyes. She could still see his pain.

_"So, everything we went through, everything that happened with Elizabeth, meant nothing to you?"_

_"No, Commander. Having you by my side meant a great deal to me."_

_"Then what?"_

_She gazed into his deep blue eyes. What she was about to tell him was a lie, but she saw no alternative. "You are human, I am Vulcan." She turned. "We are not compatible..."_

_T'Pol rose from the chair, walked to the window, and stared out at the stars._

It was nearly twelve months since she had turned her back on Trip, and T'Pol had given him no further explanation.

It wasn't her intention to hurt the commander so deeply, but she knew of no other way to separate herself from the pain of losing her daughter, a child with whom she connected with for a few precious hours then lost — all because of one selfish man trying to prove a point.

Their working relationship suffered for quite some time until the captain stepped in. T'Pol didn't know what he had said, but whatever it was Trip became more accepting of the situation, and they settled into an amicable friendship.

Their bond, though, had remained strong but in order to protect herself from further hurt T'Pol had gently blocked their connection. There were times, however, when his profound sadness and genuine joy had intruded on her life. In those moments she remained joined, touching his energy, and had contemplated what had happened to stir such emotions in him. Now, with Trip missing, T'Pol desired to restore their bond once more, then she would know if he was alive or...

T'Pol pushed the negative thought aside before it had a chance to take hold. She refused to believe that the man that she loved was gone. And she did love him, she just refused to admit it to the one person who mattered.

Dwelling on the past stirred the guilt she had carried since that day. "I abandoned him once," she said quietly. "I will not abandon him again," she vowed. Taking an even breath T'Pol suppressed her emotions, turned from her reflection, and left the captain's ready room.

As she entered the bridge she was pleased to see that the senior crew were waiting in operations. She took her place at the head of the tactical consol and studied those gathered. All appeared on edge, which T'Pol reasoned was understandable given the circumstances.

To her left, Ensign Mayweather's back was rigid, shoulders straight. His face displayed a serious expression not often seen on the young man. Ensign Sato, who stood next to the helmsman, seemed agitated. Her eyes were bloodshot with fatigue, yet they held an uncompromising, determined look. To T'Pol's right, Ensign Zabel was all business but T'Pol could see a hint of nervousness in his body language. And Doctor Phlox, who stood next to Zabel, appeared relaxed but T'Pol knew him well enough to recognise the tension in his eyes.

T'Pol focussed back on the communications officer. "Ensign?"

"Nothing, Commander," Hoshi replied, tightly. "I've scanned for everything. There are no passing ships. No hails for help. Just... silence." Hoshi raised a hand and rubbed her eyes. "There is absolutely nothing," she sighed.

T'Pol was aware that the ensign had not left her post since this all began, so she appreciated the frustration and anger she heard in the young woman's voice, but the commander needed her people focussed. T'Pol straightened her shoulders and bowed slightly. "You did your best, Ensign," she reassured.

Hoshi nodded and gave a tight smile. "Yes, Commander," she conceded.

T'Pol turned her attention to Phlox. "Doctor?"

"The scans I took inside the shuttle showed no discernible signs of trauma," he answered.

T'Pol heard a huge sigh of relief coming from Ensign Sato and saw Phlox rush to clarify the situation.

"But that's not to say that they were not injured," he added looking gravely into the ensign's eyes. "We need to be prepared for the worst."

"I know," she said, "it's just that... at least we can assume they are okay." Hoshi's eyes shone with hope and fear.

Phlox smiled gently. "Ensign, until we know for certain, I advise caution."

Hoshi raised her hand to her chest. "I understand, Phlox," she said, quietly.

"Thank you, Doctor," T'Pol moved on. She did not want to ignore Ensign Sato's concerns, but she needed the briefing to stay on track. However, T'Pol made a mental note to discuss how to address the emotional needs of the crew with the doctor later, something she had learned from the captain in her years aboard Enterprise. She turned to Ensign Zabel. "What did the scans reveal?" she asked.

"The readings from the weapons fire are odd. It's nothing I've seen used before," he answered, pointing to the consol.

T'Pol studied the data. It took her a moment before she recognised what they were. "Chroniton particles!" she mumbled, disturbed by the find.

"Isn't that the same type of readings we get from a cloaked Romulan ship?" Zabel asked.

T'Pol looked at the security officer. "It is," she confirmed.

"So the Romulans attacked them," Hoshi offered.

"We must consider the possibility," T'Pol answered.

"But there was something else we found from the shuttlepod's sensors," Travis said.

T'Pol kept her eyes level the ensign as she took the PADD from his hand.

"They recorded a massive burst of power that passed through the shuttle just before the Enterprise arrived," Travis told her.

"And?" T'Pol asked, knowing it would be more expedient for the ensign to explain than study the data now.

"There were traces of Tachyon radiation," Travis advised.

"So they were transported off the shuttle by the Romulans?" Hoshi concluded.

"But wasn't it tachyon radiation Daniels used to trace Silik on the ship five years ago?" Zabel asked.

"Time travel?" Travis said, wide eyed.

T'Pol studied the young man. She knew there was a possibility that the three men had been transported to the past or future, especially since her scepticism regarding time travel had been tempered somewhat, but she still did not want to consider the prospect. She also did not like the idea that they had been abducted by the Romulans. However, the second option was the preferable outcome, because if they had been transported to the past or future there would have no way of rescuing them. "I will need to study this data further," she said looking down at the PADD, "if we are to come to the correct conclusion..."

"Maybe I can help!"

T'Pol lifted her head, and raised an eyebrow in surprise, as the others spun at sound of the familiar voice. "Daniels!"

* * *

_'Maalcolm...' a sweet voice sang in his ear._

_Malcolm smiled, but did not respond._

_'Maaaalcolm...' This time the sweet voice followed her song with the gentle touch of her fingers on his chest._

_Malcolm kept his eyes closed as he covered her hand with his. 'uhum...' he mumbled, pushing her hand firmer against his chest, encouraging her to caress him harder. He loved her touch._

_He felt her lips brush against his and opened his eyes to gaze into the dark eyes of Hoshi. 'Good morning,' he sighed, content to have the woman he adored by his side and in his bed. He cocked an eyebrow. 'Did you sleep well?' he asked, smiling._

_Hoshi nodded. 'I did,' she answered leaning in to kiss him gently._

_Malcolm's heart skipped a beat when he tasted her. He wrapped his arm around her soft, warm back, pulled her closer, and deepened their kiss._

_Their night had already been special and he didn't want it to end, but they were due back on the Enterprise later that morning and he knew they should be getting ready. J_ust another few minutes_, he thought when his tongue brushed her lips sending sparks of excitement through his veins._

_Malcolm pulled her tighter against his body and rolled them over. His arousal grew when Hoshi giggled into his mouth and ran her hands through his hair. Malcolm groaned in anticipation and ghosted his fingers along her thigh then reached down in between her legs. Y_eah, a few minutes more won't hurt.._._

"Do ya think he's alive?"

No! Don't go! his mind screamed as Hoshi's image faded away and was replaced by the strange sounding voice that drilled into Malcolm's pounding head. Before he could tell it to shut up and leave him to his memory, another voice resounded; similar to the fist.

"I dunno, mate, why dontcha give him a kick and find out."

Malcolm grunted when a sharp pain dug into his side. He licked his lips and tasted mud as he tried to clear his head.

"Strange looking uniform. Ever seen it before?" the second voice asked.

Malcolm tried to pin down the accent he was hearing. It sounded familiar, much like his own, but there was a certain twang to it he just couldn't place.

"Nope!" A different voice answered.

Malcolm felt a tug on his sleeve.

"The patch says Enterprise."

"Enterprise?"

"Yeah."

"What's Enterprise?"

"Dunno."

"Give him another shove, Clancy,"

Malcolm groaned and rolled over onto his back.

"Noo neeed, lewks liike sleep'n beawdy's wak'n oop."

Malcolm cracked his eyes open and squinted through the darkness at the unfamiliar face garishly staring down at him.

"Learn to speak English, Clancy!" the man said looking at someone across from him. Malcolm turned his head and stared at a redheaded man hovering over him. In the glow cast off by his light, the man's freckled face seemed to merge ghoulishly through his distorted vision.

"Fook yew!" Clancy replied with the universal flip of the fingers.

Malcolm felt a tug on his uniform and turned his head back.

"What's Enterprise?" the first figure asked.

Malcolm liked his lips again as he tried to fit the pieces together. The last thing he remembered was pain and screaming. _Screaming?_

Malcolm face stung, and his eyes rolled, when the man above him slapped him sharply.

"You speak English?" he asked, annunciating each word slowly.

"Whaaa..." Malcolm tried but was surprised to find his throat so dry he couldn't get his words out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What's going on?" he croaked raising his hand to rub his aching eyes. _Who was screaming?_ Through the haze of memory he watched Trip fall, grabbing his head and screaming as he did. Then the captain...

Malcolm shot upright when everything came back in a rush. "Captain!" he gasped.

"Stay where you are," ordered an angry voice.

Malcolm vaguely heard the command as he scrambled off the ground and started to run. He'd only taken a few steps when he found his flight halted by strong hands that threw him back down into the mud.

The force of the impact drove the air from his lungs and caused the contents from his stomach to rise up in his throat and out of his mouth. He felt the hands release him immediately and he pushed himself to his feet and continued his flight to a demolished wall.

Tears stung his eyes, and his throat burned, as he vomited. _That is not very becoming of an officer, young man_, a voice admonished from the past. "Shut up, father," Malcolm grumbled sourly as wiped his mouth. He rested his head on his clenched up fist and took deep breaths.

With his stomach settling, Malcolm turned and sat heavily on the wall he had just used for support. He leaned his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. As he studied the muddy ground at his feet through his fingers, Malcolm took deep breaths to slow his heartbeat.

"Feeling better, sunshine?"

Malcolm removed his hands from his face and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness before lifting his head. He swallowed hard. "I... I am unarmed," he said nervously as he raised his arms slowly. Blood raced through his body and he prayed to whatever god that would listen, that none of the men who now stood around him with their guns trained at his head, were trigger happy.

With his arms aching from holding them high, Malcolm discretely searched the area around him. _C'mon, Captain_, his mind urged in the hopes that his silent wish for a last minute rescue would be heard. When none arrived he turned his attention back to the men surrounding him and eyed them guardedly. He had no idea who these people were, for all he knew they could be the very aliens that had attacked the shuttle but he didn't think so.

They looked far too human for a start. Each man had a few days growth of beard which was unsuccessful in hiding the mud that caked their haggard faces. And there was something familiar about the uniforms they wore. Brown trousers were tucked into knee high boots. The brown tunics had belts which wrapped over their shoulders and around their waists. They were laden with what looked like gas masks, canteens, grenades, ammunition and knifes. Each man wore flat tin hats that sat slightly askew on their heads which Malcolm thought wouldn't offer much protection in a fierce fire fight, evidenced by the dents in them.

Taking a closer look at the weapon each man still held at his head, Malcolm was surprised at how similar they were to the ancient rifles of Earth, wooden grips with long barrels, well worn and well used.

Moving only his eyes, Malcolm studied the area around him again. In the light being thrown off by fires that burned in destroyed buildings and streets nearby, he could just make out bodies scattered on the dirt road. There was what looked like an early era Earth military tank, pockmarked with huge holes, sitting inert about a hundred metres away, and there was a stench in the air that Malcolm was all too familiar with.

As he took in the destruction Malcolm realised he was looking at a war zone. But where was the question his mind couldn't find an answer for. That, and where was Captain Archer and Commander Tucker.

As he turned his attention back to the men who still held their weapons to his head, Malcolm decided that until he could discover for certain what was going on, he would provide little information. As he pinned his eyes on the man in front of him, he also decided he would gather what intelligence he could. "I'm unarmed," he repeated, this time with more confidence.

"So you do speak English?" the man in front of him said, raising an eyebrow.

Malcolm nodded slowly but remained quiet.

The man before him eyed Malcolm steadily. "The patch on your sleeve says Enterprise," he said using his weapon to point to his arm.

Malcolm dropped his aching arms slowly and looked down and smiled at that the familiar symbol. He raised his eyes and analysed his situation before answering. His first priority was to think of a plausible story so that he could remove himself from this situation as quickly as possible and start on his second priority, that of finding his friends. Malcolm fell back on his Section 31 persona. "Um... that's the name of my unit," he answered keeping his voice steady.

"Enterprise? I've never heard of this unit," the man replied.

"That's because we're covert," he half lied. _Well, Section 31 was all about secrets_, he thought, bitterly. "We go underground to gather what information we can about the enemy," he said, hoping the men would believe him.

"And woots that?" the man known as Clancy asked.

Malcolm looked back down at his sleeve. _Crap! Think, Malcolm_, think, he cursed when he realised Clancy was pointing at the ship. He thought quickly. "It's the crest of the unit," he said, glancing up.

Noticing the frowns he searched his mind for a believable story and decided on another half truth. "It signifies hope. Our Captain came up with the design." _The captain may not have come up with design,_ he thought, pensively, _but he sure as hell saw the Enterprise as signifying hope for the future_.

The dark haired man eyed Malcolm in silence for a moment. "If that's the case, then where are the rest of ya people?" he finally asked.

"We got separated," he said truthfully. "They shouldn't be too far away," he added, hoping that this was indeed the case.

Malcolm's pulse pounded through his body as a strained silence filled the air between them. He hoped that the young man would believe him.

The man in front of him referred to the others. "Whadda ya think?"

A sandy colored haired man shrugged. "Anythin's possible in this war," he said.

Malcolm watched with trepidation as, one by one, the other men agreed.

He let out a quite sigh of relief when the young man in front of him finally nodded his head and lowered his gun. "Lieutenant Harry Clifford," he said holding out his hand, "51st Battalion, AIF." Lieutenant Clifford released Malcolm's hand and pointed to the sandy haired man. "This is my second in command, Sergeant Eddy Stokes," Clifford told him.

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed," he managed to get out as his mind rocked. _AIF! Australian Infantry!_ He looked around again; the uniforms, the armaments, the tanks... "Bloody hell," he whispered. "World War One!" Malcolm's eyes grew wide. _Earth! We really are back in the past on Earth. Shit!_ He ran his hands through his hair. _Daniels! This has to be Daniels doing_...

"You okay, cobber? Ya looking mighty pale there!" Sergeant Stokes asked.

"I'm fine," Malcolm muttered, frantically scanning around the area once more. "I need to find the captain and Trip."

"We won't have time for that," Lieutenant Clifford said.

Malcolm looked up startled and stared at the young man. "Why? What's going on?" he asked searching around him, his concern building at the sound of gunfire he could hear in the distance.

The lieutenant pointed to the east of them. "Jerry pushed us back up the hill," he said.

_Jerry? Jerry?_ Malcolm's mind fought to bring the memory forward. _Jerry..._ "Germans," he said under his breath. He turned his focus back on Harry Clifford as the lieutenant continued.

"We're one of the last units out. We're trying to provide time for the rest of the battalion to make it to safety," he said.

"And making sure we've left no one behind," Sergeant Stokes added.

"Goes without saying," said another redheaded man.

"Aye," Clancy agreed.

There was a haunted look in their eyes that Malcolm understood only too well. He knew that whatever hideous scenes these men had stumbled across, whatever battles they had fought, would give them nightmares for years to come. Malcolm nodded his head knowingly. "I understand," he said, soberly.

"Anyways, I wouldn't be travellin' this area by yaself at the moment, 'specially not in that outfit," Harry said reaching for his knapsack. "Might be mistaken for Jerry," he added with a smirk.

Malcolm looked down at his uniform. "Yes, you're probably right," he agreed looking back up at Harry. "I don't suppose you would happen to have a uniform I could wear?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, mate, can't help ya there. But if ya stay in the middle of us, we should be able to provide some protection," he said pointing to the men in his unit.

"Thank you," Malcolm said as he rose slowly to his feet.

"Why thee bluew yewniform anyway?" Clancy asked as he donned his kit.

It wasn't helping Malcolm's headache any trying to understand the man and having to find even half a credible story that would make sense. He rubbed his eyes. "You're Irish, then," he said, trying to divert the conversation away from him.

"Aye!" Clancy answered. "Yew naught answer my question," he persisted.

Malcolm sighed. "That would be because it's classified," he told him.

Clancy nodded. "Understoood," he drawled.

"Here," Harry said holding out a canteen. "Looks like ya could use a drop."

Malcolm nodded his head gratefully as he took the canteen. He ignored the dirty taste of the water and tried not to drink too greedily, but he was incredibly thirsty.

As the cool liquid eased his parched throat Malcolm thought about the captain and Trip. If they were trapped, injured, or worse, somewhere in this destroyed town, he needed to find them as quickly as possible. However, not knowing the lay of the land Malcolm knew it was necessary to stay with the Australians for protection as well as information, but once he got his bearings he'd part from the Aussies and find the captain and Trip.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Malcolm handed the canteen back and nodded his head tightly. "Ready," he confirmed. Anxiety gripped at his stomach as he joined the men in the middle of their group and started walking.

"Jack," the blonde haired man next to him said.

Malcolm held out his hand. "Nice to meet you," he replied.

"You from England, then?" Jack asked.

Malcolm nodded.

"So, you wouldn't mind telling your bosses to stop sending the Aussies to the deaths," Eddie Stokes broke in. "We're losing too many men as it is."

Malcolm could see that there was no malice in his words, just a man who was battle weary and wanted the carnage to stop. He searched his mind for the particulars regarding this part of history.

Though his speciality was weapons he did remember that the English commanders had recklessly continued to send the Australian troops to the front lines into unwinnable battles which, more often than not, they seem to win despite odds. He couldn't remember the exact numbers, but he believed the losses were in the tens of thousands. "I wish I could do something," he said under his breath.

"I doubt they'd listen to me," he answered, gently, "but you always seem to prove their belief in you," he tried to encourage. He knew it was an empty platitude, there really wasn't anything that could be said in times like these, but it was the best he could come up with.

After a moment of sombre silence, Malcolm pushed on. He needed to find out where he was, and when. "Um, my mind's still a bit fuzzy. But, what date is it?"

"Wow, ya mustav taken a huge hit on the head then," Jack said.

Malcolm heard the amusement in his voice but ignored it. "Appears so," he answered with a slight smile.

Harry walked up beside him. "Well then, let's make everything clearer for ya," he said then swept his arm around. "Where in a lovely little French village called Dernancourt."

"Nice place to visit but, ya know, wouldn't wanna stay here. Too much noise," interrupted Jack.

"Yeah, gets a bit cold too," chimed in a brown headed man that Malcolm hadn't been introduced to yet. "Sorry," the man said holding out his hand. "Name's Smithy. But you can call me Smithy," he added straight faced.

Malcolm chuckled as the second redhead man held out his hand. "I'm Paddy,' he said.

"And I'm Tommy," a brown headed man introduced himself.

Malcolm shook their hands in turn. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Make your acquaintance," Clancy mimicked Malcolm's accent.

"Leave off, Clancy," Harry called.

Malcolm laughed softly at the good natured banter between the men. It reminded him of how far he had come in his own relationships. He looked to the night sky and felt an ache in his heart. _I hope you're near_, he wished silently. He raised his hand to his chest to finger his symbol of desire as he searched the stars. His silent wish unanswered, Malcolm pulled himself back to the present and steered the conversation back to where he needed it. "So, you were telling me..."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, "Where were we?"

"We were telling the lieutenant, here, all about our wonderful little resort," Tommy prompted.

Harry nodded. "Ahh, yes." He looked around the broken village. "Dernancourt. A humble railway stop that thousands seem to be dying over," he said.

"Population zero on account that everyone's either dead or'v been run out of town," Paddy added.

'Exceptin' Jerry, of course," Eddie added.

"Of course," Paddy acknowledged with a slight bow.

Malcolm heard the anger over the whimsical attitude then men projected, and his heart went out to them, but he needed more information. "And the date?" Malcolm prompted.

Harry frowned at him. "And the date would be the 3rd of April," he said, putting his hand firmly on Malcolm's shoulder. "1918, just in case you're wonderin'," he clarified with a smug grin.

Malcolm didn't blame them for thinking that he was daft pom, everything he had said so far sounded ludicrous, even to his own ears, but it couldn't be helped. He needed the information. Malcolm smiled. "1918. Right, thank you for clarifying," he said, good naturedly.

"As long as we're clear," Harry said.

Malcolm nodded and smiled as they continued walking.

"Sooo, Harry, did ya 'ere back from Sheela then?" Clancy stirred.

Even in the darkness, Malcolm could see the young man blush and felt sorry him. He didn't like people probing into his private life either so he understood exactly how the lieutenant felt. "What part of Australia are you from?" Malcolm asked to help the young man out.

Harry smiled gratefully. "Western Australia," he said.

"Land of desert and ocean," Malcolm said.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, a land of contrast that I can't wait to get home too," he said.

"How long have you been here?" Malcolm asked out of curiosity.

"Me and Eddie joined up in 1916," he answered pointing to the sergeant, "been in France for just over six months."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "You knew each other before you joined?"

Harry nodded again. "We grew up together," he said.

Malcolm heard the affection in his voice understood the sentiment. Though they didn't grow up together, he had the same connection with Trip.

He looked at Eddie Stokes, who was absorbed in a deep conversation with Smithy, and realised that although each man were involved in their own discussions none of them wavered from their task. All the men in the unit remained alert, eyes constantly searching the area around them, bodies rigid, ready for anything. As if to prove his point Clancy, who had taken up point, stopped suddenly and held up his hand. Malcolm stilled immediately.

"What is it, Clance?" Harry asked quietly looking around.

Clancy pointed to his ear. He had heard something.

Malcolm inhaled a tight breath and held it, then closed his eyes and listened.

In the distance the sound of gunfire still prevailed, and was getting closer, but it was what Malcolm heard over the noise that made his heart skip a beat. His eyes flew open.

"Move it, lads! Move it, move it, move it," Harry ordered, urgently.

Together, and without hesitation, the seven Australians clustered together and ran, with Malcolm huddled in the middle of them.

"Doon," Clancy yelled.

Before Malcolm had time to react, a hand pushed into his back and he hit the ground hard. The earth rumbled beneath him, and he felt arms cover his head, when the explosion erupted next to him. Noise roared in his ears and he fought for breath when the weight of the man above him pushed him further into the dirt as another explosion hurled debris around them.

"We're sitting ducks, here," Eddie yelled.

"Yeah, no kidding," Malcolm heard Harry's voice in his ear. He felt the pressure ease on his back when the man who had risked injury to keep him safe, Harry, he now realised with a humble heart, rose from his position. Malcolm stood quickly and went to thank the lieutenant but before he could, Harry turned to his men.

"We need to get to the station," he ordered.

"No argument here," Jack called.

"Or here," Smithy chimed in as he stood and dusted himself off.

Nervous eyes and tight smiles passed between the group as the men reformed and set out at a run.

Malcolm worried that laden down with all their kit, the pace would be too slow, but he realised very quickly that he didn't need to be concerned, they had all trained for this so their progress was remarkably fast.

Unencumbered, Malcolm knew he could have gone ahead and left them behind, but there was something deep inside, a connection he felt he had made with these men, that saw him remain. Plus it wasn't in his nature to leave a man behind.

Malcolm covered his head as best he could when another explosion erupted in front of them. He lowered his hand and wiped above his left eye when he felt the sting of debris hit his face. When he pulled his hand away he was surprised to see blood on his fingers.

"You right, mate?" Harry asked as he fell in beside him.

Malcolm nodded. He didn't think it was too bad. "Don't worry about me," he replied keeping in step with the lieutenant.

The men were silent but ever vigilant as they made their way through the destroyed town under the prevailing shelling.

Malcolm felt a tug on his sleeve. "Cover," Harry called, dragging Malcolm with him when another bomb dropped in their path. The men crouched against the flimsy protection of a destroyed building and waited out the splintered bricks and cinder blocks that were pelting their position.

"Clear!" Eddie called.

"Clear," Harry confirmed.

Again, the men rose from their positions and continued the flight to their destination.

With the constant barrage of explosions, the shouts and unending gunfire of the enemy closing in, Malcolm's nerves started to fray. He'd been in fierce battles before but nothing like this. He glanced up at the heavens again and wished he was back on Enterprise. At least there he'd have the hull plating for protection. Here, he felt exposed. Malcolm shifted his eyes from the stars and check on the men around him. He could see that, although they looked calm, they were also on edge, but very determined.

"Pick it up, lads," Harry's voice broke in over the commotion of war.

Malcolm focussed and saw they were approaching their goal, a broken railway station sitting at the end of the road. He chanced a look back to check for the enemy, and seeing no immediate danger, he faced forward again.

Something in the distance caught his attention when a flare lit up the night sky. Relief washed over him. "Captain," he called, but over the cacophony of the battle raging around him he knew it was useless.

He ducked again when another explosion detonated overhead and waited until the blast died down before rising from his position and running towards his friends to catch up with them.

Suddenly men, dressed in the same uniform as his new found allies, ran out from a side street pointing and yelling in the direction of the captain and Trip. Awful realisation dawned on Malcolm when they raised their guns.

"No! No... don't shoot! Don't shoot," he screamed, holding his hand out to men so far away he knew that it would make no difference.

Through the noise that rushed in his head he heard the others scream the same warning along with his repeated pleas to not shoot, but it was like listening under water. Words so distorted he could only just make them out.

Acrid bile rushed to his throat when he watched in horror as the captain stumbled then fall.

"No!" he gasped. Malcolm cursed his small body and willed his legs to go faster as he watched Trip race back to his fallen friend.

"Jack," Harry yelled. "Tell them to stop shooting," he ordered pointing to the men who had just fired on the captain and Trip.

Jack nodded and sped off and Malcolm felt some comfort when he saw how fast the young man ran. He turned his eyes back to the captain and Trip. "Damn," he swore when he lost sight of his friends, but then movement caught his attention. Trip stood, throwing the captain over his shoulder as he did, and started for a forest that Malcolm only just realised stood in the distance. "No, Trip! Stay put," he yelled.

"He can't hear you, Lieutenant," Harry shouted.

Malcolm ignored him. "Fuck it, Trip! Stop," he screamed as he pushed his body faster. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," he swore when Trip disappeared into the trees.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

My sincere apologies for taking soooo long to give you chapter 4, but RL issues got in the way of writing, plus my laptop died! :)

Anyhoo, here ya go!

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

AN: For information regarding this story, and for the disclaimer, please refer to chapter 1. Thanks

* * *

"No!" Trip yelled as he scrambled back and caught the captain before he fell. "Jon!" he whispered as he lowered him carefully to the ground and cradled him in his arms.

Trip's heart beat wildly as he frantically checked his friend's body. "Shit!" he swore when he saw blood oozing from a hole in Jon's stomach. He quickly placed his hand over the wound and pressed down hard. "Dammit!" he hissed and looked into Jon's eyes. "You gotta stay with me," he urged.

Trip rocked them both gently as the captain struggled to keep his eyes open. He urged him on quietly and started to breathe easier when his friend appeared to overcome his battle and forced his eyes apart, but his relief was short lived when Jon stared at him with a look that Trip knew well and hated. "Not going to happen..."

"Keep going, Trip..."

Trip's blood went cold. "Oh, no you don't," he growled as Jon's eyes rolled back and closed. He frantically placed his fingers on his friend's neck. Although Trip's heart still pounded hard against his ribs, he dropped his head in relief when he detected the captain's pulse beating weakly, yet steadily, under his touch.

Trip's body tensed and he pulled Jon closer to his chest when another explosion erupted. "We can't stay here," he said looking around desperately "C'mon, Jon," he begged staring back at the captain. When he didn't stir, Trip shook him hard. "Captain Jonathan Archer, open your eyes. And that's an order," he demanded, careful to keep his voice down.

When Jon's eyes slowly opened Trip blew out a breath. "Nothing like following orders," he said with a grim smile, but when Jon's eyes started to close once more, Trip stood. "No you don't. We have to get out of here," he said.

Trip grabbed the captain by the front of his uniform and pulled him to his feet. The muscles in his stomach tightened when Jon moaned as he threw him over his shoulder. "Sorry," he grunted then took precious seconds to adjust the heavy weight before heading to the safety of the forest.

Flares lit up the night again as Trip started to run. For a moment he thought he heard his name being called, but he couldn't be sure. The constant barrage of the bombings that assaulted his senses, and his breath that echoed in his ears, made his hearing unreliable, so he resisted the urge to turn around and remained fixed on the goal ahead.

Trip's lungs burned as he neared the tree line. He ducked on instinct when an explosion erupted to his right. It was far enough away to not cause them any harm, but close enough to set his pulse racing faster. "Almost there," he panted then put on a burst of speed when he finally arrived at his destination and crossed into the forest.

As he pushed his weary body harder, Trip was dismayed to see that the landscape remained the same. It was more of a barren wasteland than a forest. Scorched trees were stripped of their leaves, offering little protection from the rain. There were no bushes, just the damp grass that whipped at his legs as he ran.

"So much for cover," he growled as he tried to find a clear path to sanctuary.

Trip was absurdly thankful for the flares that were lighting up the night sky. They made it easier for him to navigate around the unfamiliar terrain, but there was a drawback to this small mercy. The constant bursts of light were an ongoing reminder of their peril. A persistent, alarmed voice, niggling at the back of Trip's mind told him that there was still the possibility of discovery. Trip pushed the negative thoughts aside and kept running.

Trip was plunged into darkness the deeper he ran into the forest as the flares finally started to diminish in the background. "Shit," he swore when he stumbled on something underfoot. He braced his legs and managed to halt his fall, but stopped nonetheless to adjust the captain's position on his shoulder.

Trip knew he should take the time to let his eyes adjust to the darker conditions, but he needed to get Jon to safety, that's all he was focused on, and to do that he needed to keep going. He took a deep breath and settled the heavy weight on his shoulder once more. "Hang in there," he encouraged when Jon moaned again.

As he set off at a slower pace the drizzling rain, that had dogged their every move since leaving the town of horrors, fell harder. "Great. Just great," Trip grumbled as he continued on the muddy terrain. _Though there is one good thing_, he thought and leaned his head back and took in as much water as he could to ease his parched throat. "Wish I could give you some," he said to his unconscious friend when his thirst was half slaked.

Trip started to shiver as he squinted through the pouring rain looking for a place that would provide some protection from the elements. So far all he could see was more of the same, a desolate expanse. "Some forest," he mumbled and kept walking, shivering more as the rain soaked through his uniform.

"What I wouldn't give to be tucked into a nice, warm, cosy bed right 'bout now," he grumbled.

Trip maintained his slow pace through the drenching rain as he kept looking for suitable shelter. "Fuck it," he growled when he slipped again on the muddy ground.

"Trip, put me down," Jon gasped startling Trip out of his disgruntled protests.

"I'm not leaving you behind," Trip told him angrily.

"I'm not asking you to... to leave me... It's just that." He coughed harshly before continuing. "I can't... I can't breathe..." he wheezed then coughed again. "And my head is... is swimming."

He was aware he was making Jon's injuries worse. He could see in his mind's eye the wound on Jon's stomach chaffing against his coarse, wet uniform. He felt sick at the thought, but he didn't know what else to do? Looking around there was nowhere that would provide the much needed shelter.

"We can't stop, Jon," Trip told him. "There's nothing here," he said, despondently.

"Anywhere will do, Trip. Please!" Jon begged.

Hearing Jon's pain sliced at Trip's soul like a thousand razor blades. He spun his head and knew he had to stop by the fevered looked in his friend's eyes. "Okay, okay... Just give me a minute," he answered searching for someplace safe and relatively dry.

Still seeing nothing suitable, Trip had to settle for an area where the grass was taller, and the trees were clustered closer together.

He gingerly shifted the heavy weight on his shoulder. "Okay, here we go," he said and made his way over to their scanty shelter.

"About time," Jon grunted.

"These things take time," he answered, lightly, as he came to a stop.

Trip steeled his knees then, supporting the captain as much as possible, he carefully slid his friend off his back. He barely noticed the pressure ease on his body as he laid Jon down.

Jon threw his head back. "Oh, god," he cried.

"I'm sorry," Trip soothed, feeling every inch of pain Jon was in.

"Not your fault," Jon hissed as he tried to get comfortable.

"Easy, easy, easy," Trip urged holding the captain's head as Jon adjusted his position on the saturated ground. "How're feeling?" Trip asked as he checked over the captain's body.

Jon coughed. "Been better," he rasped.

Trip smiled absently as he inspected the captain's stomach wound. It was hard to tell in the rain and dark, but it seemed to Trip that the bleeding had slowed. He placed his hand around the exit hole and pursed his lips tightly when he felt the heat.

"That bad, huh?" Jon asked.

Trip tried hiding his concern, but he knew he was failing by the grim look in Jon's eyes. "Feels a bit hot," he answered, honestly, as he searched around for anything he could use to treat it. When nothing presented itself, Trip undid his uniform and took off his undershirt. After zipping his uniform back up he tore the shirt into strips and set about cleaning and covering the injury as best he could.

He leaned back on his heels when he was finished and fixed his eyes with Jon's. Trip was already hating himself for what he was about to do next, but he needed to check.

Jon nodded. "I'll be okay," he said.

Trip could see his nervous anticipation, so he laid his hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'll be as quick as I can," he reassured, gently.

Jon closed his eyes. "Just do it."

Trip squeezed Jon's shoulder in support, then placed his other hand on his friend's hip and carefully rolled him over. "I'm sorry," he winced when Jon groaned.

He waited for the captain's breathing to even out before pulling away some of the charred material to get a better look. The skin around the wound looked singed, but little blood was visible. This time when Trip placed his hand on the injury he was relieved to feel no heat emanating.

"How's it looking?" Jon mumbled.

"Feels okay," Trip answered then looked at Jon's face. "I won't know how really bad it is until we get some light."

"Okay," Jon said, sleepily.

Trip frowned. It was obviously taking a huge effort for his friend to talk and stay awake, but Trip didn't want Jon falling asleep. He didn't know much about bullet wounds, none in fact, so he didn't want to take the chance that Jon wouldn't wake up again. "So, where do you think we are?" he asked as he proceeded to repeat his limited medical treatment on the captain's back.

"No idea," he answered taking shallow breaths. "But I'd really like to know who attacked us and why."

Trip heard Jon's voice fading and glanced at his face again. "Jon, you need to stay awake," he urged when he started to close his eyes.

"I'm tired," he slurred.

Trip shook him. "I know. But you need to stay awake for the moment," he repeated.

"Okay," Jon mumbled forcing his eyes open.

As he continued to treat the captain, Trip's thoughts drifted to their missing friend. "What do think happened to Malcolm?"

"I don't know, but I'm hoping that he's keeping his head down until we find him," he answered.

"I hope he's okay," Trip said.

"I hope so, too" Jon muttered.

Trip raised his eyes and searched the night sky through the rain. "Do you think the Enterprise is close?"

"I don't know," Jon sighed.

Trip could see he was closing his eyes again so he finished up quickly. "I'm gonna turn you back over," he said looking at Jon. "Ready?"

Jon nodded slowly. "Uhum."

Trip could feel his friend's body tense up as he steeled himself for the inevitable. "Take a breath, Jon," he ordered then rolled him over when he obeyed. Trip cringed when Jon bit down on his lip as he finished settling on his back. "It's over," he said running his hand through Jon's wet hair.

The captain took heavy breaths, but said nothing as he laid there with his eyes closed.

"We shouldn't stop for long," Trip said.

"I know. Just give me a minute," Jon replied.

As the captain recovered, Trip picked up a few strips of bark and fashioned them into the shape of a bowl. He held it under the rain until it was half full then knelt at his friend's side. "Here,' he said raising Jon's head and holding the water to his lips.

Jon opened his eyes and took greedy sips.

"Slowly," Trip warned pulling the bowl away when he choked on the water. When the captain settled again, Trip raised the bowl to his mouth once more. "And you told me that I forgot my survival training," he said lightly as he dribbled the contents through his lips.

Jon drew his head back. "Glad to see you finally remembered," he retorted then coughed harshly.

"Easy, easy, easy," Trip soothed raising the captain to a sitting position. When Jon's coughing eased, he sat behind him.

Trip rested his back against a tree, pulling Jon against his body as he did, then laid his friends head on his shoulder. He took Jon's hands and wrapped both their arms around his chest to try and keep him warm and protected.

Worried that Jon wouldn't stay awake, Trip searched his mind for something to keep him alert. He smiled wickedly. "Utopia," he said.

"What?" Jon rasped.

"Utopia!" Trip repeated then dipped his head to stare in the captain's eyes. "You ended with Xanadu, I'm starting with Utopia," he added, his smile growing cockier.

Jon chuckled. "Utopia isn't a real place," he said reflecting back Trip's own words from years ago when they were trapped on Zabral's planet.

"Hey! You used Xanadu," he protested light heartedly.

Jon smiled weakly. "I'm the captain. I can get away with cheating," he countered.

Trip huffed. "Yeah, right..." The rest of his sentence trailed off when the captain suddenly trembled. Trip frowned. "Jon?"

"I'm cold," he said, teeth rattling together as he shivered.

Trip touched his lips lightly on his forehead, just as his momma used to do, and grimaced at the heat he felt there. He raised his head and, as he stared at the sky through the rain that battered his face, he said a silent pray. Shaking himself out of his despair, Trip turned his attention back to the captain and smiled grimly. He dreaded having to move Jon again, but knew he had no other choice. "Shit," he murmured.

"Sorry?" Jon asked.

Trip reached down for the water. "Here," he offered holding the makeshift cup to Jon's lips. "We need to move," he said as Jon sipped the water.

"I know," he answered gazing up.

Trip saw a world of pain living in Jon's hazel eyes, and he regretted even more what he had to do. He removed the cup from Jon's lips and finished the rest of the water after the captain only managed a few sips. Then, sighing inwardly, he readied himself for the next few minutes.

"C'mon, let's get this over with," Jon told him.

Trip nodded, shifted Jon's head from his shoulder, and gently laid him on the ground. After carefully examining the makeshift bandages, ensuring they were doing their job, Trip slid his right arm under the captain's shoulders. "Ready?"

Jon nodded. "Ready."

"Let me do all the work," Trip told him then slowly raised him off the ground.

Jon gripped his arm tightly and groaned when Trip stood him in an upright position. "I know," Trip said, gingerly supporting his weight. He waited till Jon steadied before bending to lift him over his shoulder.

"I can walk," Jon said, gasping.

Trip stood up straight. "I don't..."

"Let me walk," Jon pleaded.

Trip studied his friend for a moment before sighing. He understood that Jon needed to feel in control, and having to be draped upside-down over his friend's back would be an affront - even under the circumstances. He nodded and looped Jon's arm over his shoulder, holding it in place with his hand. Then, supporting Jon's back with his other arm, they set off.

The going was slow. The captain did as much as he could to support his own weight, but Trip could tell it was draining him further. "I wouldn't mind Enterprise swinging by to pick us up right about now," he said.

"Yeah, their timing would be perfect if they did," Jon answered coughing weakly.

"Sshhh," Trip soothed and stopped. Even though they had not travelled far, Jon looked ready to fall. "Maybe we should rest," he said.

Jon shook his head. "No, we need to keep going," he told him.

"Well, at least let me carry you," Trip persisted.

The captain stared at him. "Keep going, Commander. And _that's_ an order," he growled.

Trip shoved his tongue against his cheek. "You remember that, huh?" he said, feeling slightly caught out.

"Hard to forget," he answered.

"It worked, though, didn't it?" Trip said shuffling slightly on his feet.

The captain said nothing as he glared at him.

Trip returned his stare. "You can be really stubborn sometimes, you know that?" he growled. When Jon shot him a warning, Trip looked ahead. "Aye, Sir," he yielded then adjusted Jon's weight on his shoulders and kept walking.

Trip took in their surroundings as they hiked through the darkness when something occurred to him. "You notice there's not a lot of wildlife around?" he asked looking at his friend.

Jon raised his head and listened. "Now that... you mention it..." he struggled to get out.

An ache stirred in the pit of Trip's stomach at the sound of his breathing. "Jon, please..." he begged.

The captain squeezed his hand and gazed into his eyes. "I'll be alright," he said taking deep breaths. "Keep going."

Trip kept his eyes fixed with Jon's and wondered what part of the universe he had to move to get the man to cooperate so that he could get him the help he desperately needed. "You are one stubborn SOB, you know that?"

Jon smiled, weakly. "So you've already said," he retorted.

"Bears repeatin'," Trip grumbled as he started forward again.

They had only walked for a few minutes when an ominous sound reached Trip's ears that caused his heart to skip a beat. He looked at Jon and knew instantly that he had heard the same thing. Deep voices, penetrating the cool night air.

Trip hoped they were still far enough away for them not to be discovered, and that the rain would masks their footsteps, but he wasn't taking any chances and wasted no time. "Sorry 'bout this, Capt'n,' he said, "but..." As gently as he could, Trip grabbed Jon by the arms, bent at the waist, and slid him over his shoulder. "Hold on," he breathed when Jon cried out at the sudden movement. Then without looking back, Trip fled through the trees.

As he focused on the path ahead with determination, Trip tired to ignore the voices of men he knew little about, who seemed to shadow their every move, tried to ignore the pain in his back as he ran. But what he couldn't ignore, what he couldn't block out was the silence from Jon and his dead weight on his aching shoulder.

Trip was at the point of exhaustion when he burst through the desolate field and came across what looked like an old, abandoned, cabin sitting on the edge of the forest, bordering a well travelled dirt road.

He tired to control his labored breathing as he searched around anxiously, checking for signs life. He didn't see or hear anything, he had long ago stopped hearing the voices of their pursers, but he still remained where he was, vigilant, reluctant to expose himself and his unconscious friend to the unknown.

As he stood watching, waiting, gnawing fear ate at his stomach that if he and Jon didn't take shelter soon, then the chances of Jon surviving were nil. "Well, there's nothing for it," he muttered after standing in place for a good ten minutes. He took a deep breath, prepared himself mentally for anything, and approached the building.

When he peered inside a dusty window, Trip's knees threatened to crumble with relief. Through the darkness he could just make out that it was a one room shack with nowhere for anyone to hide. It had everything they needed, the most important being a roof over their heads and a bed and mattress to lay down his injured friend.

"Okay, Jon, looks like we've got ourselves some shelter," he said. He knew he was talking to air but it helped him to cope with unnerving silence from his friend.

Shivering, Trip adjusted the pressure on his shoulder and walked to the door. His hands were numb from the cold as he reached one out and opened it slowly. Coughing slightly as the dust settled, he entered the unlit cottage. Eyeing a switch next to the door, Trip flipped it on with his elbow. He wasted no time looking around instead he dragged his tired legs under him and stumbled over to the bed.

As gently as he could, Trip pulled Jon off his back and laid him down on the bare mattress. He knew he shouldn't, but he collapsed on the floor beside the bed, his legs unable to support him any longer. He folded one arm on the mattress and laid his head down. "I'll just rest for a few minutes," he reassured himself, though his body was screaming a different story. He hurt all over, and his wet uniform itched at his skin.

After a few minutes, and feeling nowhere near refreshed, Trip raised himself wearily off the floor and checked out their new lodgings. There wasn't much to see. A small sink, with cupboards underneath and a shelf over the top, was fixed to the wall opposite where he stood. A wood fire stove, with small pieces of timber and kindling piled next to it, lay nested in the corner.

"First things first," he muttered heading for the stove. After a cursory glance, Trip knew he would need more to get a good fire going.

Making sure Jon was still breathing, Trip headed back outside and quickly gathered as much dried grass as he could. It wasn't easy with all the rain, but he managed to find enough that was protected from the weather. Once he had accumulated an ample supply, Trip went back inside.

As he entered the cold cabin he briefly checked on the captain again. Trip couldn't tamper down the alarm that raced through his body at seeing how sick his friend was. Jon was still out cold. His cheeks were flushed red against his pale face; sweat clung to his hair and forehead. But it was the ragged rise and fall of Jon's chest that caused Trip the most concern.

"Hang in there," he quietly urged as he dragged his attention away from the captain and got down to business.

"It's been a while," he muttered as he crouched down in front of the stove. He crammed the grass and kindling into the ingle then added some thicker pieces of wood. With everything set, he searched for the last thing he required. Seeing what he needed, Trip smiled. "Okay, not long now, Jon, and we'll have ourselves a nice warm room," he said striking a match and lighting the grass. He blew gently on the flames to encourage it to catch and once it did, he added some more wood.

Leaving the fire to burn stronger, Trip headed to the sink. He checked in the cupboards and found a bowl he could use to boil water. He turned the tap and was disappointed to see the water trickle out tainted with rust. Leaving the tap on to hopefully run clear, Trip checked the fire. He smiled. "Still got the ol' touch," he chuckled warming his numb hands against the heat.

After adding a few more pieces of smaller timber to the growing flames, Trip went back to the sink. Pleased to see that the water had lost its brown color and ran freer, he filled the bowl and placed it on the stovetop, then waited until the water started to boil before returning to the sink.

Too thirsty to wait, Trip picked up a chipped mug from the shelf above the sink and placed it under the tap. When the cup was half full he took a sip. Although it tasted stale, it was cool and soothing on his parched throat. He raised the cup to his mouth again and emptied the contents greedily.

Trip filled the mug again then walked over to where Jon lay still unconscious. He crouched down beside the bed and lifted his head. "Here," he encouraged. Even though Jon didn't respond, Trip tilted the cup and poured the contents through his friend's lips.

"It'd be nice if you decided to rejoin the land of the living," Trip said as he stared at his friend, wishing he could do more. But there was nothing, just a few precious drops of stale water that he hoped would not cause Jon any more harm.

Trip smiled softly when Jon stirred. "Hey," he greeted, lightly.

Jon looked up with heated eyes. "Thank you," he croaked.

Trip nodded. "You're welcome," he replied. "How're feeling?" he asked putting the cup down beside his foot.

"Not so good," Jon slurred.

Trip placed his hand on Jon's forehead and frowned. "Yeah, you've got a fever," he said combing his fingers through Jon's hair. He gazed into Jon's eyes. Dread filled him again for what he had to do next. "I have to get you out of that wet uniform," he said resting his hand on Jon's face.

Jon tried to nod, but Trip could see he was too weak. "Like before, let me do all the work, okay?" he soothed.

Jon closed his eyes. "Okay," he mumbled.

Trip looked around for the crumpled up sheet he had seen when they first entered the cabin. His eyes finding what he was looking for, Trip forced himself to his feet, trudged over to the corner, and picked up the stained bedding. Seeing that the water was boiling, Trip removed it from the heat and set about tearing the sheet into strips while he waited for the water to cool down.

With everything ready, Trip turned and faced Jon. His eyes were still closed but he could tell Jon was awake. With adrenalin racing through his body, Trip walked over and placed his meagre medical supplies on the bed and floor. He bent over. "Jon, you ready?" he asked.

Jon opened his eyes. "Whenever you are," he rasped.

Keeping his eyes fixed with Jon's, Trip ran his hand along his arm. "I'll try and be as quick and gentle as I can," he promised once again.

Jon smiled. "I know."

Trip nodded then moved to the end of the bed and removed Jon's boots and socks. "That's the easy part," he mumbled walking back and unzipping Jon's uniform. He winced when Jon groaned as he lifted him into a sitting position and pulled his uniform off his shoulders then down his body.

Jon suddenly reached out and grabbed Trip's arm tight as his damp clothes dragged over his injury. "Oh, God!" he gasped pulling Trip to him and pushing his head into his chest.

Trip gripped his friend as tight as he could with one hand and massaged Jon's back with the other. "I'm sorry," he choked over Jon's heavy breathing.

A single tear traced down his cheek when Jon grew silent and went limp in his arms. "Maybe it's better," he said quietly as he lowered Jon gently back on the mattress. Never letting go of Jon's hand, Trip dropped his head.

If he could have, Trip would move heaven and earth to get Jon off this god forsaken planet and safely back to Enterprise where Phlox could help him. As it was, anger and frustration made their way to his throat and lodged like a hot poker. He felt useless.

After a few minutes, Trip rallied and set out on his grim task once more. Knowing Jon would feel no more pain, he finished removing his uniform quickly then peeled off the makeshift bandage which had already started to come away.

Trip's stomach churned as the injury came into view. It looked angry and red and was blazing hot under his touch. Pushing aside his emotions, Trip dipped a piece of the shredded sheet in the tepid water and set about cleaning and cooling off the wound.

Once he was finished, he turned Jon onto his side and inspected the hole on his back. To his relief it still looked clear and felt cool. "Good, good," he mumbled as he changed the dressing.

Completing his tasks, Trip returned Jon onto his back and draped the rest of the sheet over his inert body. Fear turned like a vice in his stomach as he watched Jon's breathing. "God, I wish I could do more," he lamented.

He was stirred from his misery when he shivered. Realising he needed to get warm, Trip squeezed Jon's hand. "Rest," he whispered and rose to his feet.

Despite being desperately tired, Trip walked to the fire and added more wood. As the flames grew and the room warmed, Trip stripped off his own damp clothing and did the best he could to lay out their uniforms in front of the fire to dry.

He looked around the room again and found another sheet under the bed. After retrieving it, he wrapped the dirty cloth around his naked body and sat on the edge of the bed.

He laid one hand on Jon's leg and stared into the fire. "You'll be alright," he said, quietly, then shivered again as his body struggled to regain its heat.

_'C'mon, pay up,' Archer laughed._

_Trip groaned. 'I wasn't a fair game," he complained._

_Archer raised an eyebrow. 'Says you! Now pay up."_

_'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' he said reaching for his pocket. 'I'll have to pay ya later,' he grumbled when he realised his pocket was empty._

_Jon smiled. 'I'll settle for a beer,' he said heading for the fridge._

_Trip shook his head and stood. 'Another time, maybe,' he answered heading for the door._

_'Trip!'_

_Trip turned. 'Yeah.'_

_'Take a load off,' he told him pointing to the sofa._

_By the look in the captain's eyes, Trip knew what this was about. He sighed and sat back down. 'Capt'n. I know what you gonna say, but can we...'_

_Archer held up his hand. 'The fallout between you and T'Pol is affecting your working relationship, Trip. And it's not just with you and T'Pol," he said moving over to the sofa. "Others on the ship are being affected as well,' he added as he knelt down._

_Trip stared into the captain's eyes. The mention of T'Pol's name cut through his heart like a knife. He really didn't want to go there. Trip cleared his throat. 'Capt'n, please...'_

_Archer put his hand on Trip's knee. 'I think it's about time we talked,' he told him, softly._

_Trip rubbed his eyes as he leaned back into the sofa. The last thing he wanted was to discuss T'Pol and the mess his life was in, but he knew the captain wouldn't let up until he did. He grunted. 'Where do you want me to start?' he said looking at his friend._

_'Anywhere you want,' Archer urged him gently as he sat next to him._

_Trip stared at the captain. 'I don't know where...' He drew his lips tightly together when the pain of the last year threatened to erupt. He looked away for a moment before turning back. 'It hurts...' he said, unsteadily._

_Trip waited until he could trust himself to speak before continuing. 'First Lizzie, then Elizabeth, now T'Pol...' He looked into the captain's eyes. 'She broke my heart, Capt'n," he whispered._

_"I know," Archer replied, gently._

_Trip studied Jon's face. "I trusted her, Capt'n, and she tore me apart," he half sobbed._

_Archer wrapped his arm around Trip's shoulder and hugged him close._

_Trip closed his eyes and rested his head on the captain's shoulders. He said nothing while Archer ran his hand up and down his arm._

_After a moment of silence, Trip swatted away the tears that pooled and stared down at his lap. "I've lost everyone...' He choked on the words as a clamp seized his lungs. He gripped his jeans tightly. 'I can't do this anymore...'_

_'Yes, you can, Trip. You've got me,' Archer said quietly as he continued to rub his friend's arm._

_Trip turned his attention back to the captain and examined his face closely. 'Have I?'_

_Jon kept his eyes fixed with Trip's. 'Absolutely,' he said without hesitation._

_Trip leaned his head against Jon's shoulder again and stared at the ceiling. 'I don't know...'_

'Trip?'

Trip heard the captain's confusion and shifted his weight on the sofa so that he was facing him. 'Things haven't exactly been good between the two of us over the last few years either,' he said with regret. Trip folded one leg under the other. 'I'm just not sure anymore.'

Archer mirrored Trip's position on the sofa and turned to face him. 'I know,' he said then leaned his head to one side. 'But, Trip, you must know how much you mean to me. That, no matter what we've been through, we'll always be friends?' he added with a frown.

Trip lowered his head. There had been times over the last two years where he had questioned his friendship with the captain. He had all but accepted that nothing remained of their previous close ties. But now, here he was reassuring him...

He felt the captain's hand lift his chin and he faced his friend once again. 'I'm not sure anymore,' Trip repeated sucking in a wet breath...

"Trip..."

Jon's voice jarred Trip from his memory. "You okay," he asked, alarmed.

"Uhum," he said, groggily.

Trip placed his hand on Jon's forehead and was disappointed to feel heat still radiating.

He rose from the bed and walked to fire, as he did he looked out the window and was relieved to see the sun was rising and the rain had finally stopped. Trip stoked the fire before adding another piece of wood then turned to the sink. He poured a fresh cup of water and returned to the bed where he sat down on the bed. "Here."

"Thanks," Jon said hoarsely as he took the cup.

As he drank, Trip climbed on the bed next to Jon and leant up against the wall that served as a headboard.

"What were you thinking about?" Jon asked as he handed the rest of the water to Trip.

Trip emptied the contents then pulled Jon onto his chest and wrapped both their arms around his friend. "Just how you and I began," he answered.

"As friends or lovers?" Jon asked leaning his head against Trip's shoulder.

Trip looked down. "Is there a difference?"

Jon smiled, warmly. "For us? No, I guess not," he agreed. "Do you ever miss her?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Trip thought about this. "Sometimes," he answered, truthfully. He mulled over how much more he should reveal. The one thing they had agreed upon when they first started out on their relationship was to be honest with each other. "On occasions I still sense the bond between us and her love for me."

He felt Jon shift uncomfortably under his arms. "Do you still love her?"

Trip contemplated the question. Honesty, remember. "There are moments, I guess, when I still feel something for her."

He felt Jon relax and nod. "Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," he said.

"And you're okay with that? It doesn't upset you?" he asked, surprised.

Jon squeezed his arm. "Trip, you and T'Pol shared something that I could never understand." He turned his head slightly until Trip could see his eyes. "When you got sick last month, and nearly died, I saw for myself how deeply that bond went."

Trip shuddered at the memory. "I don't recall much, but I do remember how I felt when I woke," he grimaced then smiled. "Doctor Phlox told me that you stayed by my side the whole time," he said looking back at Jon. His heart clenched when he saw the haunted look in his captain's face. "Jon?"

"I thought I was going to lose you," he said, quietly, then shivered.

Trip rubbed his arms. He wasn't sure if Jon was trembling from the fever or the memory. "You okay?" he asked.

Jon nodded slowly. "Yeah," he answered.

Trip kept stroking his arms. He sensed that Jon had more to say so he stayed silent and let him continue.

"There were a few nights when you were having nightmares. You kept tossing and turning, calling out for Lizzie, Elizabeth, for T'Pol..." He paused for a moment as he explored Trip's eyes. "I tried to do what I could, but nothing seemed to work." He looked away.

"Then one night T'Pol came. She didn't see me there, so she'd probably deny it, but she laid her hand on your arm and whispered something in your ear. I wish I heard what she said, but it didn't matter, whatever it was calmed you, and you remained that way until you started to recover, and for that I was grateful."

"You didn't feel jealous?"

Jon shifted again. "No. I love you, Trip. So anything that helped you, I wasn't going to stand in the way. I almost lost you..."

He left the rest unsaid, but Trip understood. "I love you too. But I guess there's still a part of me that needs her."

Jon closed his eyes and Trip wondered what was going on through his head. He knew that it couldn't be easy for his lover to accept that he still shared his heart with another. "Jon," he prompted.

"Do you ever regret it?"

Trip frowned. "Regret what?" he asked, though he knew where Jon was going.

"Us?"

Trip could hear the misgivings in his voice and quickly acted to douse any kind of doubt. He dropped his head so that he could see Jon's face. "Never," he said. Trip put every ounce of love he felt for the man in front of him in that one word as Jon searched his eyes.

"I guess I can't argue with that sentiment," Jon finally ceded as he settled back into Trip's embrace.

"Yeah, don't," he told him, pulling him tight. It felt good, having Jon's body resting against his. It seemed like an eternity since they had shared a bed, shared their bodies, but the truth was that it had only been a few days. A few long days, Trip thought, sourly.

After another moment of silence, Jon stirred. "Where are we?"

Trip's eyes drifted around the room. "A nice little place I found. Has everything we need," he said waving one hand around the room, "including a fireplace," he added with a grin.

"I like what you've done with the place," Jon replied with a yawn.

Trip looked down. "Why don't you get some rest?" he said.

Jon nodded. "As long as you do," he mumbled.

Trip smiled. "Aye, Sir," he said, then shifted his weight until he was lying down. Trip draped an arm over Jon's bare chest and rested a leg over his. He was reluctant to close his eyes, wanting instead to keep watch over Jon, but the warmth of the room and his exhaustion, finally caught up with him so he rested his head into Jon's shoulder and let sleep come.

Trip's mind swam in confusion as he tried to determine what had woken him. He opened his eyes and looked at Jon, who was still sleeping, then closed his eyes again to listen. In the distance of his fogged mind he heard a sound that he couldn't place.

He stilled his breathing and willed his tired mind to clear from the haze of exhaustion. His heart skipped a beat when he focused his attention and finally heard what must have stirred him - the sound of deep voices approaching their hideaway.

Trip shot Jon a worried glance before rising quietly off the bed and crawled to the window. His eyes flew open and he sped back to the bed and quickly dressed before he raced back to the door and ran outside.

"Malcolm!" Trip yelled then stiffened when something solid pressed into the small of his lower back.

"Don't move."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	5. Chapter 5

Well, it's about time! Finally here is chapter 5. My sincerest apologies for taking so long to post. I did almost give up, but thanks to Aquarius and Alyson Lee, I didn't. Now that I have the boys together, hopefully things will run smoothly from here on in, and I won't take another year to add the next chapter. The story is all planned out, it's a matter of finding the words.

Thank you to Honeybee for beta'ring this for me, and thank you all for your patience.

* * *

He ignored the battle that was still raging behind him and tried to control his rising panic. "Oh, please, Trip, stay where you are," he begged though he knew it was a waste of time. There was just too much chaos raging around him for his friend to hear his plea.

"Oh god!" Malcolm gasped and fought to close the distance between himself and his friends who were rapidly disappearing deeper into the forest.

"Lieutenant!"

Malcolm stopped and spun around. "What are you waiting for?" he screamed when he saw that the others weren't following.

Harry closed the distance between then. "It'll be impossible to follow them in the dark," he called.

Malcolm rushed back. "I'm not leaving them!" he shouted, pointing in the direction where his friends had disappeared. "The captain could be seriously hurt. Trip will need our help."

Harry took a step forward. "It's too dangerous to go in there," he said indicating with his hand past Malcolm.

"I'll go by myself if I have too," Malcolm growled. He was trying to keep calm, but the image of his injured captain, and the frantic look on Trip's face was tormenting him.

Harry dropped his head and placed his hands on his hips. "I understand, Lieutenant." He looked up. "We don't like leaving men behind."

Malcolm heard the bitterness in his voice, and could see the battle on Harry's face. He stepped closer. "Then, please, don't leave my friends behind." He hated the sound of desperation in his voice, but he was desperate and he needed the Australians.

He held his breath as he watched Harry look at his men, once again seeking a group opinion. When Harry returned his attention back to him, Malcolm knew he had won his argument. They were going to find his friends.

* * *

Hoshi spun and stormed over to Daniels. "Where is he?" Is he alright? What happened?"

Her questions flew out of her mouth in a rush before she could think to censor herself, but at this moment she didn't give a damn. Malcolm was missing, and this man who was backing away from her had the answers. Hoshi was sure of it.

"Ensign, please, let me explain," Daniels said holding out his hands.

Hoshi took another angry step forward. "Explain what?" she growled. "Tell us what's –"

"Ensign!"

At T'Pol's sharp rebuke, Hoshi stopped her tirade immediately. She tampered down a scream that was threatening to escape her lips as she turned. "Sorry, Commander," she mumbled, but she wasn't sorry at all. Hoshi wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

As she walked back to the consol, Hoshi raised her hand to her chest and stroked a chain which was hidden under her uniform. She followed the feel of the chain until she reached that which gave her some comfort, a ring, in the shape of a heart, with the inscription,' For the Future. MR' etched inside.

The whole time they had been searching, Hoshi had struggled to keep her calm.

Despite what T'Pol had told them all, she had been terrified, still was, in fact, that the man she loved was gone.

Hoshi looked up and met Travis's eyes. She could see his concern, and wanted nothing more than to seek his comfort because he understood. He was the only one who knew about the relationship between her and Malcolm.

Travis dropped his hand surreptitiously and took hold of Hoshi's. As she settled into her position next to him, he gave her hand a tight squeeze. "It'll be okay," he whispered.

Hoshi smiled, grimly. "I hope so," she whispered back, then centered herself and turned her attention back to the meeting.

"Explain?" T'Pol ordered, curtly.

Daniels walked forward slowly until he came to a stop next to the commander. "The Na'Kuhl," he said.

T'Pol straightened. "The Na'Kuhl?" she repeated raising an eyebrow.

"Weren't they the aliens who tried to change the outcome of World War II?" Ensign Zabel asked.

Daniels nodded. "Their agenda was to change all history and time."

T'Pol straightened further, her hands firmly clasped behind her back. "Captain Archer stated that you told him that the Temporal Cold War was at an end," she said, sharply.

Hoshi thought she detected anger coming from the commander, but she ignored the out of character T'Pol and clung onto every word the crewman from the future was saying.

Daniels nodded and continued to explain. "It is," he replied looking slightly abashed. "What's happened to your officers has nothing to do with the Temporal Cold War."

Hoshi frowned. "If it wasn't about the cold war, then –"

"What's it about?" Travis finished.

"Revenge," Daniel's said without preamble. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable as the senior crew scrutinized him. "The Na'Kuhl were trying to drag the captain into their future out of pure revenge."

* * *

His heart hammered against his ribs. "It's alright, Sergeant," Malcolm yelled. He spun to Clifford when Eddy deferred to his commanding officer for direction. "It's okay, Lieutenant, he's with me. He's part of my team," he pleaded. After traipsing through the forest all night trying to catch up with his friends, Malcolm hoped that it wouldn't be for nought.

Clifford eyed Malcolm for a few seconds before turning to his second in command. "Let him go, Eddie," he ordered.

Malcolm blew out his breathe to release his pent up tension at the same time he saw Trip visibly relax when the gun was removed from his back.

Trip ran forward. "Malcolm, am I glad to see you!"

Malcolm suppressed a wince when Trip gripped his arm tight. "Likewise, Commander."

Malcolm studied his friend. The day's growth of beard couldn't hide the dark rings under his exhausted looking eyes. He could only well imagine what they had been through during the night, and wanted to find out what had happened, but it would have to wait. "Where's the captain? How is he?" he asked, quickly. He was feeling the strain of not knowing what had happened to his two friends over the last twenty hours.

Trip started running toward the door. "He's in here," he said looking over his shoulder at his friend. "He's hurt real bad, Malcolm."

Malcolm could almost taste Trip's panic and spun to Lieutenant Clifford. "Does anyone in your unit have medical training?" he asked, urgently.

Clifford nodded at Eddy. "See what you can do," he told the young man.

Malcolm quickly followed Trip inside the warm cottage. His muscles tensed when he saw the captain. His eyes were closed, he was extremely pale, and there was sweat covering his face.

Trip had made his way over to where the captain laid and climbed on the bed by his side. "It's okay," he soothed when the captain mumbled something in his fevered sleep...

* * *

_Jon coughed to clear away the smoke that clogged the air._

'_Daddy,' a little voice cried._

'_I'm coming baby girl,' he rasped, and tried to feel his way through the smoke filled maze._

'_Daddeee...' _

'_I'm coming. I'm coming!' he called, frantically searching around him. 'I can't see,' he yelled. 'I can't see!'_

_Suddenly, a woman appeared in front of him. The skin on her face was stripped away, her hands covered in burns, her blue dress saturated with blood. 'Help her!' she pleaded holding out her hands in supplication. 'Help her!'_

_Jon backed away. 'I... I...' _

'_Help her!'_

_Pain stabbed at his side. 'God,' he groaned, bending over. _

_The little girl's scream penetrated his fogged up mind. 'No!' he yelled and tried to run, but the pain in his side stopped him again._

"It's okay, Jon..."

_Jon spun his head around, seeking out the familiar voice. 'Trip?'_

"You're gonna be fine..."

'_No! I have to find our baby girl,' he screamed as he pushed his body on. _

_Weeping coming from behind a closed door to his right drew his attention. He fought his way through the black smoke and carefully pushed it open._

"Help's here..."

'_Noooo!' he wailed and fell to his knees. 'I'm too late,' he wept as he crawled toward the bodies._

"I've got someone here who would like to say hello..."

_He stared into two pairs of lifeless, blue eyes. 'Trip,' he whispered as he stroked his dead lover's hair. He looked at his little girl. 'I failed you both...'_

"So you need to wake up..."

Jon heard Trip's voice from a distance but, for the life of him, he couldn't open his eyes. All he was aware of was the fire burning through his body, he wanted to sleep. He felt a warm hand squeeze his own.

"C'mon..."

Jon slowly forced his eyes opened and looked up into the concerned face of his lover. "Trip," he rasped and wished he hadn't. He coughed harshly which caused his body burn in agony. He groaned and closed his eyes again, and willed the pain away.

"Oh no you don't, Jon, open your eyes..."

He heard Trip's command and tried to obey, but the heaviness that was his eyes wouldn't follow. He attempted to take a deep breath, but stopped when a hot poker burned deep in his lungs. He groaned and tried to roll over.

Firm hands held him still. "That's it. Time to wake up," Trip encouraged.

"Is he alright?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, Jon groaned again, forced his eyes open, and struggled to smile as his missing armoury officer walked toward him.

"It's good to see you, Captain," he said, softly.

Jon nodded weakly. "Malcolm, glad to see that you're okay," he slurred.

"How are you, Sir?" he asked, frowning.

Jon grimaced. "Oh, I've been better." A spate of coughing followed, which drew the attention of a stranger to his bed.

"This is Eddie," Malcolm said.

Jon tried nodding again, but his head swum, so he closed his eyes.

"It's okay, Jon, take it easy," Trip urged quietly.

Jon opened his eyes, and winced when Eddie pulled the sheet down to reveal his injury.

For a few minutes, all Jon could hear was the low murmuring of voices coming from outside, and him trying to control his breathing as Eddie probed his wound.

Malcolm looked at the young man. "Eddie?"

Eddie gently touched the exit hole. "Yeah, it's a bit warm," he mumbled as he reached for his knapsack. "I don't think it's infected but just in case."

Trip took Jon's hand into his own. "Then what's causing his fever? Will it get worse?"

Eddie pulled out a small sachet containing a yellow powder. "You carried him on your shoulder?" he asked as he ripped the package open.

Trip nodded. "Most of the night."

Eddy smiled, tightly. "Then the fever is most likely cause by the wound constantly rubbing against your uniform."

Jon squeezed Trip's hand when guilt slammed into his face. "You weren't to know, Trip," he said, gently.

Eddie's dark blue eyes met Trip's. "You may want to keep a hold of him," he warned. "This could smart a bit."

"What is that?" Trip asked, pointing to the bag.

"Something that will help sterilize the wound. But it does tend to burn."

Jon looked into Trip's eyes. His heart was running a mile a minute. He didn't know how much more he could take.

"Trust him, sirs, he knows what he's doing," Malcolm encouraged.

Jon met Malcolm's eyes. He wanted to know why Malcolm was so sure that he could trust this stranger.

Malcolm shrugged. "You're badly injured, Captain, you need medical attention," he said.

Knowing that his security officer didn't trust strangers quickly, Jon finally agreed. He grabbed Trip's hand tighter. "Go ahead," he said, shakily, but before he could finish, Eddie poured the contents onto his wound. Jon hissed and rolled away when the burning sensation hit.

"Hang on, Jon," Trip urged as he braced his shoulders and rolled him back gently.

Eddie covered the wound with a clean dressing. "Okay," he said, "let's roll him on his side so that I can check his back," he directed.

Malcolm quickly climbed onto the bed and knelt next to Trip to help. As Trip wrapped his arms across his chest and around his shoulder, Jon once again looked into his eyes. There was some part of him that was aware that they weren't acting like officers, but right now he didn't care if Malcolm caught them out. He needed Trip's touch.

Jon tensed when Malcolm placed his hands on his hips, and Eddie nodded indicating he was ready. He groaned as he was gently rolled onto his side.

"Easy, easy, easy," Trip whispered.

Jon wanted to say something, but all he could do was try to control his breathing as the young man prodded an area in his back.

"This looks good," Eddie said. "I'll just make sure it stays that way."

Jon stiffened at the sound of another sachet being ripped open. He wanted this to be over. He grabbed Trip's uniform and struggled to breathe when the contents hit his skin.

He started to relax when he was rolled onto his back again. He steadied his breathing and looked at the young man.

"I've done as much as I can for the moment," Eddie said.

Jon nodded. "Thanks," he rasped.

Eddie smiled and stood. "Welcome."

Malcolm climbed off the bed, but Trip stayed by his side and wiped the sweat off his brow. "Is he going to be all right?" he asked.

Eddie nodded. "If we can get him to our Regimental Aid Post, he should be fine."

Trip blew out a soft breath as he dropped his head.

"How're we gonna get him to camp?" another man, who had been standing off to the side, asked.

Jon's attention was drawn to the door as it opened. "Well, we'll just have to throw something together," offered a brown headed man as he entered the cottage. "Sir, the lads want to know if we're gunna set up camp for the day."

The older man shook his head. "We've got plenty of daylight left." He turned to Eddie. "As soon as he's ready, we'll break camp," he said as he headed for the door. "Clancy!" he yelled as he left.

"Aye, sir," came Clancy's response.

"Work with Smithy, get us a litter made quick smart so we came move off," he ordered.

Clancy's response was muffled when the door closed. Jon turned his attention back Malcolm.

* * *

"I thought you said Vosk was dead?" T'Pol noted.

Daniels grimaced. "He is."

"Then who has taken them?" she demanded.

"Another Na'Kuhl named Sakuts, the Na'Kuhls leader," he said.

"So if Vosk and his men died, how did Sakuts know it was the captain who destroyed their plans?" Travis asked.

Daniels cleared his throat. "There was a traitor in our midst."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I would expect your employers would vet their agents a bit more carefully," she said.

"We're not infallible," Daniels said. "We tried to stop him, but we were too late."

"What happened?" T'Pol asked.

Daniels started pacing the side of the observation consol. "We inadvertently caused a tear in the time continuum," he said stopping next to Doctor Phlox. He looked pensive for a moment before continuing. "It would not have been pretty," he mumbled. "In fact it would have been quite painful for them. "

"Crewman!" T'Pol interrupted sharply. "Where are they?" she asked.

Hoshi tried keeping calm when Daniels glanced at her before turning to face T'Pol. By the look she caught in his eyes, she knew what the answer was. She felt sick.

"We don't know."

* * *

The captain tried sitting up, but Trip pushed him back down. "Stay," he ordered.

The captain glared at him. "Since when do you give me orders," he grumbled.

Malcolm forced the smile back that was threatening to break out as Trip returned his glare.

"Are you alright, Trip?" Malcolm asked, breaking the silent standoff.

Trip looked away and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah," he sighed looking at Malcolm. "How did you know about the captain?" he asked.

Malcolm glanced at the captain then back at Trip. "I saw what happened," he said.

Trip's eyes grew wide. "Oh my god! Was that you calling out?"

Malcolm nodded.

Trip scrubbed his face. "So I carried him most of the night when he could have had help sooner," he growled.

"Trip, you weren't to know. It was pretty chaotic," Malcolm said.

When Trip stared at the captain, Malcolm could see that he hadn't convinced him of the truth. He didn't know what to say to ease his perceived guilt, and struggled to find a way to soothe his friend. He was grateful when the captain took over.

"Trip, Malcolm's right, you couldn't have known," he appeased, running his thumb along the back of Trip's hand.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at the tender gesture. For a brief moment he wondered if there was something going on between his friends, but pushed that idea aside. _Not my business_, he thought. _I've got my own secrets_.

Trip swallowed hard and took shallow breaths. Eventually he nodded and turned back to Malcolm. "How did you find us?" he asked.

Malcolm settled on the edge of the bed. "It wasn't easy, but one of the soldiers managed to follow your tracks left in the mud," he said, indicating with his head outside to where the Australians were waiting.

Trip looked in the direction where Malcolm pointed. "Who're your new friends, anyway?"

Aware that Trip and the captain didn't know what was going on, Malcolm eyed Eddie who was crouched in front of the fire warming himself. "I'll explain when we're alone," he said.

* * *

These were not the words Hoshi wanted to hear.

"How is it that you are unable to find our officers?" T'Pol demanded.

"The quantum discriminator, that we use to locate travellers, was sabotaged by the traitor," he explained. "He did a pretty good job of it too," he added.

"How long will it take to repair?" Travis asked.

Daniels shrugged. "We're working on it. Hopefully by the time we reach Earth," he said.

"Earth?" Hoshi repeated, seeking clarification.

Daniels nodded. "That's the one piece of good news. Before we lost their life signs we were able to keep track of where they were heading, but we don't know when. They could be in the future, past, or present," he told them. Daniels paused and folded his arms. "However, there is another problem," he said.

"And what would that be?" Travis asked.

"We don't know what happened to the Na'Kuhl," he said.

Hoshi's heart skipped a beat. "You weren't able to keep track of them?"

"We were, for a little while, but their life signs cut off earlier than your officers."

"Where were they heading?" T'Pol asked.

"They were on the same path as your officers," he said.

"We detected no other abandoned ship in the vicinity," T'Pol noted.

"That's because, somehow, their ship was transport along with them," he said.

T'Pol dropped her head to the side. "Then, could it be possible that they were transported together?" she asked.

Daniels was shaking his head before she had finished asking her questions. "No. They definitely travelled separately," he told the group.

"Then how is it that they all ended up being transported if they weren't together?" Zabel asked.

Daniels folded his arms. "We're hypothesizing that, because we were trying to stop Sakuts, they were caught in the crossfire, so to speak, and were inadvertently transported."

"This is too surreal," Hoshi said under her breath.

"I know what you mean," Travis whispered back.

"In any case, Commander," Daniels continued, "they could have either followed them to their location, or they could have died. Until we get the discriminator fixed, we just don't know." He stopped and looked around the group once more before settling his attention on T'Pol. "If they have landed in the same location as the captain, they could be in grave danger."

"Then you best begin," T'Pol ordered.

Hoshi straightened. Despite everything she heard, everything she felt, she was determined to get to Malcolm back. Alive. "And once we get back to Earth, how do we find them?" she asked.

"Let me worry about that," Daniels said concentrating on T'Pol. "You just need to get us there as quickly as you can."

T'Pol turned to Travis "Three weeks at high warp, Commander," he said.

Hoshi smiled, cheerlessly. _Leave it to Travis to have the calculation ready before being asked._

* * *

"Okay," Eddie grunted as he stood away from the fire. "I'm going to check on the progress of the litter," he said heading for the door. "Be back in a tick."

"Thanks, Eddie," Malcolm called as he watched the weary, young man leave.

"Malcolm, do you know where we are?" the captain asked as the door closed behind the soldier.

Malcolm turned his attention to the captain. "It appears that we are back on Earth."

Trip frowned. "Earth?"

Malcolm couldn't blame him for being surprised, he was still trying to understand what was happening. "France, April 4th, 1918, to be precise," he told them.

"Daniels!" Archer grumbled.

Trip looked at the captain. "I thought he promised to leave us alone?"

Archer nodded. "He did," he sighed.

Trip clenched his jaw. "He's not very good at keeping promises then."

"What about Enterprise?" Malcolm asked.

"Our communicators aren't working," Trip answered. "What about yours?"

Malcolm looked around. "I haven't had the opportunity to try," he said, quietly.

"Try now, while we're alone," Archer ordered.

Malcolm pulled out the communicator and flipped it open. When the familiar beep didn't sound, he went to try again.

"I wouldn't bother, Malcolm," Trip said.

Malcolm held out the communicator. "Did you want to -"

Trip waved his hand. "No, we had the same problem with ours. All the circuitry is fried. Must've happened when we were transported here."

Malcolm sighed. "Now what?"

Further conversation was cut short when the door opened, and Clancy and Smithy walked in. "Dooon't mind us," Clancy crooned as he walked to the foot of the bed. He carefully studied the long bedposts before pulling on one. "Aye, shood be fine," he mused, nodding.

"'scuse us, lads," Smithy said then proceeded to prise the bedpost off from the base with the knife from his rifle while Clancy worked on the other. After a few minutes of grunting by the two Australians, Smithy whooped. "She'll be right now, cobbers," he beamed, holding the bedpost aloft triumphantly.

"Aye," Clancy agreed, mimicking Smithy's movements as he walked to the door, their heavy boots seem to thunder on the timber floor as they crossed the room.

Smithy stopped and looked at the three officers. "Won't be too much longer, and we'll be off," he said following Clancy out the door.

Trip raised an eyebrow. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Malcolm shrugged. "Haven't a clue," he answered turning his attention back to the captain.

"And who are these people?" the captain asked.

"Australians, 51st Battalion of the AIF," Malcolm explained.

"AIF?" Archer asked.

"Australian Infantry," he clarified.

"How do they fit in the picture?" Trip asked.

Malcolm frowned. "I'm not sure that they do," he said, rubbing his aching shoulders. "They found me after I was pulled through," he said. "It took some doing to convince them that I'm one of the good guys. I told them that we're a covert group, spying on the enemy."

"And they believed you?" Trip said, surprised.

Malcolm eyed Trip steadily. "They're battle weary, Trip, so they probably believed what I told them out of a desperation that something was being done to end this war." He looked out the window and, as he watched the activity going on outside, he remember their flight through the woods during the night. "They're a tough bunch, though," he said looking back at his friends. "They saved my life and helped me find you despite the conditions."

Trip nodded. "And we're grateful," he said looking outside. "So, we're here, Enterprise is god knows where, and Daniels hasn't shown his ugly mug. What do we do?" he asked, getting back to their previous conversation.

The captain shifted slightly. "I'm not sure. There's got to be a reason why Daniels sent us here."

"Then why hasn't he shown up to tell us what this is all about?" Malcolm asked.

"I guess we'll have to wait until he does," Archer mumbled as he closed his eyes. The effort of keeping up with the conversation was clearly taken its toll.

"Why don't you rest, Jon," Trip quietly encouraged.

The captain nodded. "Mmhum," was his only reply.

Malcolm rubbed his face while the captain settled.

"You okay, Malcolm?" Trip asked.

Malcolm nodded. "Just hadn't realised just how tired I feel." He looked at Trip. "Wouldn't mind a hot shower right about now," he grimaced, pulling at the collar of his uniform. "This damned uniform is making my body itch like hell it's so damp," he complained.

"Yeah, it's been rough," Trip said then looked up when the door opened again. He raised his finger to his lips, indicating they needed to be quiet.

Jack and Tommy nodded. "We're 'bout ready to go," Jack said, quietly, "but we need a few more things." He walked over to the bed and stripped the sheet that Trip had used off the mattress.

"Sorry, mate, but we need these as well," Tommy said as he reached behind Trip and took the dusty pillows.

Eddie walked in as the two men left. "We should start to get your friend prepared for the move," he said.

Malcolm nodded and looked at the captain. He was once again deeply asleep, which was a relief, and he was happy to see that his breathing had evened out. "Trip," he prompted as he stood.

"I really hate to wake him. He's only just gotten back to sleep," Trip said quietly as he rose from the bed.

Malcolm placed his hand on Trip's arm. "It'll be okay," he encouraged.

"Okay, time to go," Harry Clifford said as he, Jack, and Tommy entered and walked to the bed.

"Jack, Tommy, take his feet," Eddie ordered then looked at Malcolm and Trip, "you two take his head."

Trip quickly got back on the bed, while Malcolm knelt on the floor beside the captain.

"Jon, we're going to move you, okay?" Trip cautioned quietly.

The captain opened his eyes and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. "Okay," he breathed.

Trip put his hand on his shoulder. "Let us do all the work," he said.

"I can walk," he mumbled.

Trip placed his hands on his hips. "Capt'n," he grumbled.

The captain glared at the engineer. "Commander," he growled.

Malcolm covered his mouth, suppressing another smile. Something told him that Trip and the captain had had this conversation before.

"Fine," Trip huffed. "You really are a stubborn sonofabitch," he grumbled as he wrapped his arm around the captain's back.

"So you've said," the captain answered. He glared at Trip. "A number of times," he added, gritting his teeth as Trip raised him into a sitting position.

"Are they always like this?" Eddie asked Malcolm.

Malcolm dropped his hand and stood. "Like an old, married, couple," he answered. He quickly wiped the smile off his face when the two in question glared at him. "A happily married couple," he added innocently.

"Um, I think we should find him something to put on," Clifford noted with a wry smile.

The captain looked down at his naked body. "Yeah, you're probably right," he mumbled.

Malcolm searched around the one room cottage, it didn't take him long to catch a glimpse of something under the bed. He crouched and dragged out a pair of frayed drawstring pants and passed them to Trip.

"Thanks," Trip acknowledged then proceeded carefully dressing the captain. "Lift your butt," he instructed.

The captain obliged then once again glared at the engineer when Trip mumbled something that Malcolm couldn't hear, as the captain settled back again with a moan. "Sirs!" he interrupted, frustrated by their silent battle of wills.

Both men looked up.

Malcolm inclined his head toward the door. "We shouldn't waste any time," he said.

The two men nodded. "Sorry, Malcolm," Archer gasped as Trip continued to help him to his feet.

Malcolm nodded and quickly took the captain's right arm. "It's alright, sirs, I understand," he said.

Malcolm tightened his grip when the captain's knees buckled.

"Jon, please!" Trip said, softly.

The captain coughed. "I'll be fine." He raised his chin. "Let's get going," he ordered.

"Aye, Sir," Trip grumbled.

Malcolm suppressed his sigh. _This was going to be a long day..._

* * *

His red eyes concentrated on the small building in front of him.

Sakuts was the only survivor from his crashed vessel. He didn't know what happened. One minute he had the humans within his grasp, the next, his ship was spiralling out of control until they crashed on this godforsaken planet. He was unsure how he was going to return to his own time and planet.

His thoughts went to his brother, Vosk. The hatred he felt toward the human who had killed him, and thwarted their plans, was all encompassing. So, when he had received information about the whereabouts of the human, he was quick to exact his revenge.

His only consolation was that at least one of the humans had survived. He had kept track of the human known as Reed during the night in the hopes of finding a certain captain.

His attention was drawn to the small structure when the door opened.

He raised the corner of his lips into a leering smile. "Captain Archer," he hissed.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to Honeybee for Beta'ring this!

* * *

Jack waved his arm. "Your chariot awaits," he announced with a lopsided grin.

"I've always heard that the Australians were good at improvising," Malcolm snorted.

Trip glanced across the captain to Malcolm and raised an eyebrow at his amusement.

Before them stood, what was once a timber wheelbarrow. Its main frame had been dismantled and was now serving as the base. The arms had been extended by the bedposts that the soldiers had taken and was fastened down by rope.

"We had to extend the arms on account ya mate here's got long legs," Jack added.

Trip tightened his hold on Jon when he sagged. "Hang on," he encouraged.

"Let's go," Harry ordered.

With Malcolm's help, Trip carefully led the injured captain toward his transport. It was only a few steps, but it seemed to take forever. With each footfall, Jon's weight became heavier on Trip's shoulders. It was agonizing for Trip, so he felt a world of relief when they finally drew up alongside the litter.

Trip untangled his arms from Jon and held him close to his chest. "Okay, let's get you settled," he said, trying to ignore Jon's sweaty, pale, face.

Jon nodded. "Okay," he said, breathlessly.

Trip bit down on his lip when Jon groaned as they lowered him onto the stretcher that had been cushioned with whatever had been lying around. He covered Jon with the sheet, and settled his head on the pillow that had been taken from the bed. The effort of the move had exhausted his lover, and Jon's eyes closed. Tip rested his hand on Jon's arm and squeezed gently.

"I'll go and get your gear," Malcolm said, turning back to the cabin.

Trip nodded but kept his attention on Jon.

"He'll be okay," Eddie said.

Trip raised his eyes. "Thanks."

Eddie nodded. "You two seem pretty close," he noted as Jack took the handles and the group set off, and Malcolm rejoined them.

Trip looked back to Jon and reflected on just how close they really were, and how their relationship had changed over the years. "Yeah, we've been through a lot together," he finally answered.

"I'm sorry," Eddie said.

Trip looked up. "For what?"

Eddie kept his eyes forward. "It was one of our men who shot your friend. It was—"

"A madhouse," Trip interrupted. He looked back at Jon. "It was a madhouse," he repeated. "It wasn't your fault," he concluded looking back at Eddie.

Eddie met his eyes. "Thanks," he acknowledged. "Have you been in country long?" he asked.

Trip shook his head. "No, not long." He glanced at Eddie. "You?"

Eddie's shoulders sagged slightly. "Too long," he said, sighing. "War's are dirty business."

Trip nodded his understanding, and decided to change the subject. "What part of Australia do you come from?"

Eddie perked up. "Western Australia," he answered. "Have you been to Australia?"

Trip cringed inwardly. The memory of his time in the desert always lingered in his body. "Once," he answered.

Eddie brightened. "What did you think?" he asked.

Trip squirmed. "Dry, hot, snakes," he answered as diplomatically as he could.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you go?"

Trip checked on his sleeping lover. "Jon and I spent some time doing survival training in the outback," he said.

Eddie chuckled. "Ahh, I understand," he said. "The desert may have its own beauty, but I prefer the greenery of the coast."

Trip smiled. "As do I," he said. "One good thing, though."

Eddie looked at him. "And that would be?"

Trip's smile grew bigger. "Drinking with the locals was always fun," he said.

Eddie twisted his body to face him as they kept walking. "Well, after the war, why don't you pop on over and we can raise a glass of ale?"

The knowledge that he'd never see this affable Australian, after they figured out how to get home, tugged at his heart. "I'll see if I can arrange it," he lied. "What did you do before the war?" he asked, changing the dangerous conversation.

"I was a coach driver before enlisting," he said. "Got to do a lot of traveling -"

"See a lot of the sights," Trip finished for him.

Eddie nodded. "Met a lot of the locals," he said with a glint of mischief.

Trip glanced at him. "Locals huh?" he mused.

Eddie looked around. "I met the girl I'm gonna marry in a little town called York," he said, quietly.

Trip read his body language. Having been in Eddie's shoes, he understood. "You miss her?"

Eddie nodded sadly, but remained quiet.

As they walked on in silence for a few minutes, Trip took the opportunity to take in the countryside.

He had been to France on more than one occasion, and what he was witnessing now was heartbreaking. Everything was tainted with the blight of war. The trees in the distance were stripped bare. The ground, which was once fertile in his time, was darkened with mud – leaving nothing to grow.

Trip studied their small group. Taking the lead, Smithy and Tommy were talking amongst themselves, their rifles hung lazily across their chests, though their eyes were in constant movement. Walking behind them, Clancy and Paddy were on either side of Jack, who still carried the stretcher. They also had their guns hanging loosely, eyes alert.

His eyes came to rest on Malcolm, who was walking just behind him with his counterpart, and smiled. The armory officer was in his element checking over an ancient rifle, well to them anyway. He was full of animation as he discussed, well whatever armory officers discussed about weapons.

Trip turned his attention to Eddie, who was checking on the captain. He smiled inwardly. He was grateful to the young Australian for tending to Jon's wounds, and didn't know how he could repay him, especially in the situation they were in.

"Trip. That's an unusual name," Eddie said, looking up.

Trip smiled. "It's not my real name." He held out his hand. "Charles Tucker the Third," he introduced himself. "My friends call me Trip."

Eddie took his hand. "Eddie Stokes," he said shaking his hand. "You come from a big family?"

Trip dropped his hand and took Jon's again. "I suppose it depends on your definition of big," he said.

Eddie chuckled. "I have two older brothers and two older sisters, and one younger sister," he said.

Trip raised his eyebrows. "Wow, that is big!"

"Not big enough, according to my dad," he said. "You?"

Trip cocked his head to the side. "Well, I have an older brother and sister, and a younger..." He stopped to amend his thinking. "I did have a younger sister, but she died."

"I'm sorry," Eddie said.

Trip glanced down at Jon. "It's been a few years since she was killed. I miss her," he said thinking of all that he had lost over the last three years. Trip smiled when Jon opened his eyes and squeezed his hand gently. "But I'm moving forward."

* * *

Malcolm handed the rifle back to Harry. "She sure is an antiqu..." he stopped to correct himself. "A beauty," he said.

"Saved my life more times than I can count," Harry replied.

Their footfalls were muffed by the sodden mud underneath their feet as the group moved through the desolate countryside. The rain had stayed away, but it was still cold and overcast.

"Soooo Harry, you naught answer me question," Clancy interrupted.

Gentle laughter echoed around the group at Clancy's gentle baiting. Harry kept his eyes forward. "Which question was that?"

"If yer heard back from Sheela?" Clancy crooned.

A small smile played on Harry's face. "Don't you ever give up?"

"Noo," came Clancy's quick response. "So?" he prompted.

Malcolm shook his head in amusement.

Harry sighed. "Not yet. These things take time," he said then turned to Malcolm. "Do you have anyone special back home?" he asked.

Malcolm appreciated that the young Lieutenant was looking for an out, but he wasn't sure how to answer. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs just how much he was in love, but with the captain and Trip within earshot, he didn't want to take the chance of being found out. He shook his head. "I've had a few female friends over the years, but never really found the right one," he lied, smoothly.

"Yeah, and this war doesn't help that situation," Harry replied.

Malcolm smiled, tightly. "No. No it doesn't," he agreed.

Malcolm cast a glance around the group. Trip still walked alongside the captain, talking with Eddie. The captain, to his relief, looked to be sleeping comfortably. He thought back to the cabin and how the captain and Trip behaved. The way Trip kept referring to the captain as Jon, the way the captain held close to Trip.

His mind suddenly threw an image at him. The night he caught Trip leaving the captain's quarters, blushing as if he had been caught out. Malcolm hadn't taken much notice at the time; it was, after all, a common occurrence. The captain and Trip often met for dinner and to watch a game of water polo. Malcolm raised his eyebrows when he finally put two and two together. Well, he thought, I'm not the only one keeping a secret.

"Do you think Monty Nobel will play again?" Tommy said, interrupting Malcolm's discovery.

Malcolm listened on with amusement as the soldiers discussed the one and only sports he did follow.

"Nah, he only made 57 runs in the last test he played, and took no wickets," Paddy pointed out.

"True, true. But the Aussies did win the ashes under his captaincy," Jack countered.

"Which we took back in 1912," Malcolm added.

"I thought you didn't know anything about sport," the captain replied.

Malcolm looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I said not particularly, Captain," he said. "Modern sport never held my attention, but cricket has a long history in the Reed clan-"

"Modern sport?" Eddie queried.

Malcolm's breath caught, and he could see the panic in Trip's eyes at his blunder. He quickly came up with an implausible explanation. "Ah, what I meant was... Um, I see cricket as the original English game, not football," he stumbled out. He knew it was a lame excuse, so he immediately went on. "Cricket is different. It's a thinking man's game. It's all about tactics. One I certainly can relate to, don't you think, Sir?"

The captain met his eyes. "Right up your alley, by the sounds of it," he said, looking relieved.

Eddie, however, still appeared dubious, Malcolm couldn't blame him, so he continued. "Besides, there's always been a healthy rivalry between the Australians and the British."

The friendly banter died off as they neared a bend in the road when the soft murmuring of voices, and the creaking of metal on metal, drew their attention.

The group slowed to a stop when the displaced of war trudged toward them. A long line of men, women, and children who looked downcast and beaten - the innocent, drawn into a war of which they had no say in.

They had their sole belongings strapped to carts and wheelbarrows. Their faces, smudged with grime, did little to hide the horrors of war that reflected in their eyes. All were silent as they shuffled toward their destination.

An old man came forward. "Ah! Les Australiens ! Tout est bon, nous pouvons revenir à nos maisons," he said with gusto.

Trip leaned across to Malcolm. "What did he say?"

"My French is a little bit rusty," he said, though he knew enough. He felt a rock settle in the pit of his stomach. "But, he believes that, with the Australians around, everything's going to be okay, and that they can return to their homes."

Suddenly a woman ran forward with her hands held out. "Que Dieu bénisse les Australiens," she said.

"Nous oublierons jamais. Ne jamais oublier. Merci, merci," another older man said as he pushed his way forward.

Trip looked at Malcolm again.

Malcolm pointed to the woman. "She said, God bless the Australians." He indicated toward the old man. "And he said we will never forget. Never forget. Thank you, thank ..." His voice trailed off, suddenly unable to take a deep breath.

"I don't know what they're thanking us for, they don't have a home to go to," Eddie said, sadly.

"I guess they're grateful because they're not in the hands of the Germans," Harry noted.

"At least they'll still have a town that can be re-built when this war is over," Malcolm said, quietly.

Harry shrugged. "True, I guess."

Malcolm caught a glimpse of a young girl hiding behind one of the adults. He estimated the child was no more than eight, but her dark eyes reflected a much older age, one that was born from the nightmares of seeing her young life destroyed. His heart reached out to her.

The world receded into the background as Malcolm walked slowly over to her and crouched to her eye level. "Bonjour," he said, gently.

The little girl eyed him steadily. "Bonjour," she whispered.

"Here," Harry said as he pulled out a bar of chocolate from his uniform.

Malcolm took the sweet and held it out to the child. "Would you like some chocolate?" he asked, softly.

The young girl glanced at the young woman standing next to her, her mother, Malcolm assumed. When the woman nodded, the young child tentatively held out her hand and slowly took the offered treat.

"Merci," she said, quietly.

Her gentle nature, her innocence lost, her haunted eyes rammed into his heart and ripped at his soul as she started to back away. Malcolm swallowed hard to force the lump, that had suddenly made its presence know in his the back of his throat, back to where it came from. "De rien," he managed to say.

"We should keep going," Harry prompted, gently.

Malcolm stood, and glanced at the captain and Trip. He smiled, but it was a sad smile when he saw the young girl approach the captain. He watched with heavy heart as she raised her hand slowly and touched his face.

The captain's lips went taut when the little girl leaned in and whispered something into his ear that Malcolm couldn't hear. She leaned back. "Merci," she said as she walked back to the mother.

Malcolm's eyes met the captain's, and his soul tore a bit more at the distressed look he saw dwelling there.

* * *

Hoshi held Porthos close to her chest as she rose from her bed. "It's okay, boy. I'm sure we'll find them," she whispered as she placed the dog on the floor of her quarters. "It's only for a little while," she added as she scratched behind his ears. She had retrieved the pooch from the captain's quarters when they had learned the fate of their officers. She was glad for his company. "Pet therapy," she mumbled.

Even after her long hot shower, she still felt unsettled. She started to wander around her quarters, Porthos wagging his tail as she turned on some music. She gazed around her room and walked to her wardrobe to retrieve the one thing that gave her hope. It was a framed photo of her and Malcolm after their first night out together.

Malcolm was wearing a black tuxedo, with a white button up shirt, finished off with a bow tie. Hoshi wore a simple, long, deep purple dress with a slit on the side that ran up to her upper thigh. Her hair, untethered, hung loosely around her shoulders and back.

"You know, when Malcolm first asked me out on this date, he was so awkward." She chuckled. "He fidgeted and fussed, it was all I could do to stop from laughing."

She held the photo close to her heart as she walked to her window and watched the stars as they flew by in a flurry. "He helped me deal with the aftermath of the Xindi..." Her voice faulted. She never liked visiting that past, but Malcolm had persisted. "We talked for hours and hours. He was so patient as I went over what happened again and again."

She pulled herself out of that memory and smiled. "Anyway, we ended up going to this waterside restaurant. It was charming. We had a table near a big window with a lovely view of the lights reflecting off the water."

She moved her body from side to side in time to the music playing in the background. "Malcolm was still awkward, but by the time dessert came around, he had loosened up a bit." She turned back to Porthos who was now settled on his cushion – a captive audience.

Her face brightened. "When we had finished our meal, that's when the night got interesting. That's when I found out just how romantic the stodgy Brit can be."

She closed her eyes again and continued to move the soft music. "I love to dance," she sighed, then smiled. "And, surprise, Malcolm loves to dance too." She looked at Porthos when he barked. "I know, right!"

Her body tingled as the memories of their first date played behind her eyes. The way Malcolm took her in his arms. "It was quite intense." She kept swaying as she remembered how Malcolm had pulled her close. How he had wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting on her lower back – their lips barely a hairsbreadth apart.

"Now, if that wasn't sexy enough, he started to hum when the band started playing a different tune. It was an old song. What was is called?" She stopped her movements and raced to her computer. "I made sure I got a copy," she mumbled as she ran through her music list to search for the song. I didn't take long.

She pressed play and sashayed into the middle of her room as the music began.

_"Heaven, I'm in heaven..."_

She closed her eyes, rocked her head from side to side slowly, and let herself drift back to that magical moment.

_"And I seem to find the happiness I seek..."_

Malcolm's dulcet serenade sang in her head as she remembered how he pulled her closer until she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

_"When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek..."_

"My heart was beating so fast when he gazed into my eyes. It was with such intensity that it literally took my breath away..."

_"And the cares that hang around me thro' the week..."_

_"Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak..."_

"He waltzed me around the dance floor." She swung her arms out as she pirouetted around her room...

_"Dance with me..."_

_"I want my arm about you..."_

"Swept me away..."

_"I want my arm about you..."_

_"The charm about you..."_

She could still feel her long hair as it wrapped around her face when he spun her out, then drew her back into his firm chest. "God! I felt exactly what the song was saying. I could hardly talk..."

_"Will carry me thro' to Heaven..."_

She leant back, mimicking the movement that Malcolm had performed, his strong arms holding her there...

_"I'm in Heaven..."_

Hoshi overbalanced and fell to the floor with a thud. She laughed. "Well, that didn't happen."

Her soft laughter soon turned to tears. She looked at Porthos when he nudged her hand. Her heart breaking, Hoshi drew the pup closer and nuzzled his soft fur. "I miss him, Porthos," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "I need him back."

* * *

_In the low light reflected by the stars that passed by outside, Jon could just make out Trip's damp hair. The scent of their love making still lingered. Jon's heart was still racing in the aftermath. He was now wrapped around Trip, his hand lazily grazing his arm. 'You're quiet tonight,' he said, softly._

_Trip rolled over in Jon's arms and stared at him. 'Just thinking,' he said._

_Jon searched his eyes. 'About what?'_

_Trip smiled. 'You ever thought of having kids?'_

_Jon shifted slightly to get a clearer view. 'I've thought about it,' he said._

_'And?'_

_Jon shrugged. 'I guess I was too focused on my father's engine that it passed me by.'_

_'Was that all?'_

_Jon cocked his head to the side. 'I guess I also didn't meet the right person.'_

_'And now?'_

_He frowned as he studied Trip's face. 'Trip, why all the questions?'_

_Trip rested his head on Jon's bare chest. 'If the right person came along, would you consider having children?' he asked, his voice muffled._

_"I've found the right person, and he's right here," he said as he brushed his finger through Trip's hair._

_Trip rose onto his elbows. "I can't give you children," he said, smiling._

_Jon chuckled. "You've been pregnant. Maybe—"_

_Trip slapped him on the stomach. "You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?"_

_Jon smiled. "Nope!"_

_Trip frowned then rested his head on Jon's chest again. "Okay, let me put it this way," he said. "If you had the opportunity, would you want to be a father?"_

_Jon considered this for a moment as he continued to toy with Trip's hair. Would I be willing to father children at my age? He shook his head, slightly. 'I think I'm too old to be a father,' he finally answered._

_Trip lifted his head, and raised his hand to Jon's face. Jon leant into his caress. 'I don't think you're too old,' he whispered._

_Jon kept their eyes connected, searching for an answer in Trip's eyes. 'What's going on, Trip?' he tried again._

_'I had a chance to be a father,' he said, softly._

_Jon drew Trip closer. 'I know,' he soothed._

_'I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I could fall in love so quickly, to have that immediate connection with my child,' he whispered as he played Jon's chest hair._

_Jon pushed his guilt aside at failing the innocent child, and pulled Trip to closer his heart. 'Maybe one day –'_

_'Vous me rappeler de mon papa,'_

Jon's eyes snapped opened. It took a few seconds for him to reorientate himself to his surroundings, and for the image of a little girl who missed her daddy to fade.

He groaned and swallowed hard against the pain as his stretcher hit another hole in the road. His head pounded, his side burned, and his mouth was as dry as hell.

"Here," Trip urged and lifted his head.

Jon drank the water greedily, trying to tame the desert that was his mouth. He coughed when he choked on the cool liquid.

"Easy," Trip soothed as he removed the canteen.

Jon licked his lips. "Thanks," he rasped as his head was lowered again. He closed his eyes, and immediately his encounter with the little girl assaulted him.

_'Vous me rappeler de mon papa. Je regretterai mon papa...'_

She had whispered. Jon's heart ached for her.

"How're you feeling?" Trip asked.

Jon looked at his lover. "Better," he mumbled. "How much longer?''

"We're just about to enter the compound," Trip answered.

Jon nodded as he closed his eyes again, but not before noticing that another Australian soldier had taken over the role of stretcher bearer. He took a shallow breath. He was relieved that his bumpy, painful, journey was at an end.

The soft murmur of voices surrounded him, but it was the screeching noise in the distance that got Jon's attention. He opened his eyes again and craned his head in time to watch a line of tanks rumble pass about fifty metres down the road, with a group of soldiers walking along side, heading south.

Jon turned his head when loud cheering and groaning echoed in the air. A group of soldiers were huddled in a circle to his left, throwing down money in the centre.

"Oi!" Clancy yelled. "Place a quid on fer me, will ya, Macca."

"Mate! You already owe my five!"

"I'm good fer it!" Clancy called.

"Hey, Clance," some of the others greeted.

"Lads," he acknowledged with a wave of an arm.

"I think you betta pay up," Jack said, nudging him.

"Aye," Clancy sighed.

"Come in spinner," a young man called as he tossed what looked like two coins in the air.

The soldiers raised their heads in unison and followed the coins as they reached their arc then dropped to the ground. Again, cheering and groaning filled the compound.

As the soldiers went for another round, Jon checked his surroundings. From his angle he could see lines and lines of stained tents to his right. Some had small fires burning outside, tendrils of smoke drifted through the cool air as they boiled water in tins that sat on the coals.

Around him, men and women mingled as they went about their business. Nurses were assisting the injured inside an old timber building that reminded Jon of a school. It was marked with the scars of war, charred walls and soot covered windows.

In the grounds surrounding the building, some soldiers were playing cards. Some were reading letters, others just sat with their eyes closed, looking dirty and tired, leaning up against a shattered stone wall.

Jon fought against the bile that abruptly made its way to his mouth when the stench of rotting meat hit his sensors. Searching for the source, his stomach clenched when he saw a group of men who were being attended to by nurses away from the building under the shade of the only tree Jon had seen since being transported there. From what he could see, these men had blisters that appeared to be rotting, almost melting, the skin from their frames. The nurses were doing what they could, pouring water over the burns and providing comfort, but the soldiers' faces still told the story of the agony they were in.

"Smithy! Put the billy on, would ya!" Harry ordered, drawing Jon's attention away from the macabre scene.

"One cuppa coming up," Smithy replied, turning to leave.

"Lieutenant," an older man greeted. His hair was hidden under a dirty white cap, his coat, once white, was now the colour of an off cream.

"Hey, Doc, got a patient for ya. He's had a bullet run through him," Harry said.

Jon eyed the weary looking man as he neared. He stiffened and prepared for another round of pain. He shivered when the sheet was drawn back and the cool air hit his skin.

Eddie leaned over. "The abdominal wound is the worst, it was starting to get infected. I think I've headed it off."

Jon braced himself as he was rolled onto his side.

"The entry wound looks good."

Being talked over as if he wasn't there was starting to irritate him, so he concentrated on his breathing as they continued.

"Treatment so far?" the doctor asked.

"It's been cleaned and sterilized."

His body trembled from all the movement and prodding, and he desperately wished it was over. He gripped Trip's hand as they rolled him onto his back. His world titled, and he was grateful that he didn't have anything in his stomach. Those around him were in real danger if he had.

As his world settled, he caught movement in the distance. He gripped Trip harder to get his attention...

* * *

Sakuts lips grew into a sneer. "You seem to be in a great deal of pain, Captain." His red eyes shot fiery glares at the human. "Soon, I will add to it," he snickered as he moved further back into the shadows. "Very soon."

To Be Continued...

End chapter notes:

The song playing for Hoshi is Cheek to Cheek sung by Fred Astaire from the movie Top Hat.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to everyone who have left reviews, they are music to my soul!

Sorry for the wait, however, ya'll be happy to know that I have actually finished this story! :) I'm now waiting on my beta to return the last chapters. Hopefully not much longer!

* * *

_Enterprise_ glided effortlessly through space, unaware of her urgent role in reaching Earth. Cocooned behind her steel frame, her crew went about their daily duties with their usual proficiency. All of them worried about the missing officers.

As Commander T'Pol walked through the corridors on her way to sickbay, her mind was on the report she received from Doctor Phlox. It detailed his concerns about the emotional and physical welfare of the crew. T'Pol held the same concerns. She had witnessed on a number of occasions the crew's response to their missing officers, especially the captain. Enterprise seemed to be lost without him.

She switched off the PADD and continued her journey. Though T'Pol appreciated their anxieties, she only had one person on her mind. The thought of never seeing Trip again disturbed her deeply.

During her meditations since Trip had gone missing, her mind had been filled with memories of their past relationship, the good and the bad. And in those weeks, her Katra had been full of regrets.

Regret... a human emotion that T'Pol never conceived she would ever experience, but had nonetheless.

She discovered that she regretted never telling Trip about her near fatal addiction to trillium, and how that addiction challenged her emotional controls. She regretted never explaining to him that when Elizabeth died, how she found it difficult to bear, not just her despair, but his as well. It was the sole reason she pulled away, an oversight she vowed to remedy when he returned.

She had also considered her reasons for wanting to strengthen her bond with Trip. She acknowledged that she still had feelings for him, and on some level, she knew her feelings were returned, but she had come to terms with their separation months ago.

T'Pol once again contemplated Trip's new found peace that she often felt through their bond. She came to the conclusion that it was due to his relationship with the captain. There was a part of her that deemed it possible that Trip and Captain Archer had formed their own special bond. Upon reflection, there had been telltale signs of their relationship changing into something deeper and more meaningful, even permanent.

Whatever the reasons, she decided that she would be honest with Trip, and whatever the outcome, she was at peace letting him go. The decision made, her Katra found balance once more.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she neared sickbay when the doors opened and Ensign Sato walked out. T'Pol quickly noted her appearance. She looked extremely pale, her hair dull and limp. She also observed that the ensign appeared to have lost weight. "Are you not well, Ensign?"

Hoshi stopped short. "I'm fine, Commander. Thanks for asking," she said, turning to leave.

T'Pol glanced at the sickbay doors. "May I ask why you sought out the doctor's assistance?"

Hoshi turned back to her. "Tension headache," she answered, standing straighter. "It's been a frustrating few weeks."

T'Pol sensed her anguish, and understood. "Hoshi," she said, walking over to her. "I'm sure that Malcolm will be fine," she tried to soothe.

Hoshi's face flushed. "I'm sure they're all going to be okay," she stumbled out.

T'Pol laid her hand on her arm. She could feel the young ensign shaking under her touch. "I understand," she said, softly.

Hoshi dropped her head. "I thought I was hiding it pretty well," she mumbled.

T'Pol left her hand where it was, a rare action for a Vulcan, but she had lived among humans for many years, and accepted that this form of contact was beneficial to them. "Vulcan's may not show emotions, but we are sensitive to them."

"You won't say anything?" Hoshi asked.

T'Pol rested her hands behind her back, relaxing her posture. "I see no reason to," she said.

Hoshi smiled, but it was a sad smile. "It's been over two weeks, Commander, and we haven't heard from him."

"I'm sure Daniels is doing his best."

"What if he can't repair his, whatever he calls it? What if we can't get him... them back?"

Though she shared her uncertainty, T'Pol nonetheless tried to bring some hope. "We'll get them back."

* * *

"Are you sure?" Malcolm asked as he rummaged through the backpack.

Trip wiped the remnants of shaving cream from his face and eyed his friend in the mirror. "I saw him as well," he said.

"It may not have been Vosk, but it was certainly someone from his species," Jon said as he slowly dragged dark trousers over his legs.

"I wonder what he's doing here," Malcolm mused.

Jon started putting on a button up shirt. "Don't know, but whatever the reason, we need to find him and get some answers."

"How do we accomplish that?" Malcolm asked.

Trip chuckled. "Well, I told ya once that I was a regular bloodhound," he said, studying the old razor blade in his hand. It had taken some practice, but he had finally managed to master shaving. He looked up when Jon grunted. "You okay?" he asked.

Jon nodded. "We let him find us," he said.

Trip frowned. The slight sheen on Jon's forehead was telling him that he wasn't okay. "Maybe we should wait till you're fully—"

"Leaving already?" Eddie interrupted as he entered the tent.

Trip looked away from Jon who was, once again, giving him the evil eye. He nodded. "Yeah, we've got us some bad guys to catch."

Eddie indicated with his head toward the captain. "Is he up to that?"

"_He_," Jon interjected, "is fine."

Trip kept his eyes level with Eddie and shrugged. He wasn't prepared to go into battle with his captain.

"I'll be right back," Eddie said, leaving quickly.

"Trip," Jon called.

Trip closed his eyes and sighed before turning to Jon.

"You need to stop worrying about me," he said, gently.

Trip shrugged. "Comes with the territory," he mumbled.

Malcolm chuckled. "You two should really get a room."

Trip jumped as if he'd been bitten on his butt. He quickly glanced at Jon and could see the alarm. He turned to Malcolm. "I... I... What?"

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Sorry," he murmured. "But I just put two and two together..."

The rest was left hanging in the air, but Trip understood. "Damn," he cursed under his breath as he sat on the edge of his cot. He looked at Jon who was staring at the armory officer.

"Malcolm," Jon started.

Malcolm held up his hand. "It's alright, Sir, we all have secrets. Yours is safe with me."

Trip cocked his head to the side. "Yeah," he drawled. "What would yours be, then?" he challenged. He held back a laugh when Malcolm blushed. He could see his relief when Eddie returned.

"Here ya go," he said holding out a rucksack.

Trip frowned as he took the bag. "What is it?"

"Medical supplies, just in case," Eddie said.

Trip smiled. "Thanks."

"Anything else you need?" he asked.

Trip stood. "Nah, I think that's everything."

"We should get going," Jon said.

Trip donned his backpack and picked up the medical supplies.

"I can take that," Jon asserted.

Knowing he wouldn't get anywhere, Trip handed the kit over then joined Eddie at the flap.

As they crossed the open ground, Trip surveyed the scene. Smoke was drifting though the air as people slowly came to life, and the wounded went about their day. Some of the soldiers had large medical pads wrapped over an eye, or both, while others had bandages wrapped around their heads, or various parts of their bodies.

Some of the injured were being escorted by nurses through the area, probably getting their first touch of fresh air and sunshine since being brought in. Some walked while others were being pushed over the rocky ground in timber squeaking wheelchairs because of missing limbs.

His attention was drawn to a group of soldiers who were making their way into the compound. They looked tired and weary, dragging their feet as they slowly made their way to the hospital, carrying the injured. It saddened Trip that over the two weeks that they had spent with the Australians, that more and more wounded were escorted in, and battalions returned from some battle with dwindling numbers.

"C'mon, Harry!" someone called. "Bowl the ball already, will ya!"

"Hold ya horses," Harry answered.

Trip turned his to the cricket match being played in a clearing to his left. He had tried to learn the rules so that he could join in, but it was beyond him. It had proven to be more of a game for Malcolm with all the different tactics involved.

Still in uniform, but with his braces hanging loosely down his legs, Harry rubbed the ball on his groin, nodded to a fieldsman to his right, and ran. As he closed in on the wicket, Harry's pace increased, and he bowled the ball with speed that always astounded Trip. The sound of willow cracking as the batsman hit the ball echoed across the area.

"Catch it!" Jack shouted when the ball was lobbed high.

Trip watched in amazement as Malcolm ran and catapulted himself in the air, catching the ball before it touched the ground, then landing on his feet with precision, and held the ball aloft in triumph.

The umpire, Macca, as he'd come to know him, raised his arm and pointed to the sky.

"Waddya mean I'm out?" Smithy challenged directing a finger to Malcolm. "Mate's not even playing," he complained.

"Out's out," Macca told him.

Smithy huffed and stormed away from the make shift pitch.

"You'd make a good long off fieldsman," Harry said a little breathlessly as he approached the group.

Malcolm tossed the ball back to him. "Probably," he answered, raising his eyebrows.

"Leaving already?" Harry noted, rubbing the ball absently.

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, we need to keep moving," he answered.

"So, where are you headed?" Eddie asked.

Trip shrugged. "Not sure, probably south," he said, looking around. He smiled when Jon raised an eyebrow as the rest of the unit met them.

"Remember, you still owe me," Jon challenged, light-heartedly.

Clancy screwed up his freckled face. "Aye! That'll be the luck of the Irish on yer side," he sighed. He reached his hand out. "Next time I'll beet yew at two-up and git me quid back," he drawled.

"Clance, you never win," Jack mocked.

"He's right, ya know, mate" Paddy added.

"Clancy couldn't win a round if he bribed God almighty," Tommy offered.

"Can God be bribed?" Smithy pondered as he came up alongside the Irishman. "Don't worry, Cobber, you're still a good sort," he said, slapping Clancy's back.

Jon chuckled. "Seems they have a point," he mused.

"Fookin' marvellous," Clancy grumbled as he marched over to Trip. "Keep 'im in line, will yer," he said as he walked past, nudging Trip's shoulder.

Trip buried a grin that was threatening to break out. "Don't worry, I will," he said, meeting Jon's exasperated eyes. Trip shrugged. Although he uttered those words with humor, it was a promise he aimed to keep.

"We'll have to finish that cricket match when the war's over," Harry said, rocking back on the heels of his feet.

Malcolm shook his head in amusement. "You're on," he said.

Harry moved closer. "I know I've said it before," he said. "But, anything that can bring this war to an end sooner rather than later would be good." His eyes narrowed. "You're unarmed, in civvy clothing. You'll be easy targets. Be careful out there," he warned.

Malcolm nodded, sharply. "We'll do our best."

Trip turned to Eddie. "Well, thanks for everything," he said, holding out his hand. He smiled brightly. "Including the beer," he added.

Eddie pulled a face. "German beer ain't as good as the Aussie brew, mate," he said shaking his hand. "Look me up when this war is over, and I'll show you," he said, matching Trip's smile.

Trip's smile faulted. "I'll do just that," he lied.

Eddie dropped his hand. "Keep safe."

Trip nodded. "You too," he said, leaving with Jon and Malcolm.

As they approached a bend in the road, Trip turned back. The Australians were still at the entrance. Tommy and Jack were sitting up against a tree sharing a cigarette. Clancy was talking to Smithy, who still seemed to be complaining about his dismissal. Eddie was leaning into Harry, sharing a joke. Their laughter could be heard from where they were standing. Eddie looked up and stared in their direction. Trip struggled to smile when Eddie tipped his slouch hat in what was a gesture of friendship.

He looked at Jon when he laid his hand on his shoulder. "C'mon," he urged, gently.

Trip took another look back and, with a heavy heart, he waved one last time and headed out into the unknown.

* * *

"It's good to see that someone is taking care of their well being."

Travis looked up and smiled. "Have a seat, doc," he offered, pointing to the vacant chair next to him.

Phlox nodded as he sat. "You seem to be in deep thought?"

Travis shrugged. "I was just thinking," he said, absently.

"Hmm, I gathered that," Phlox prompted.

Travis cut at his steak, refusing to meet the doctor's challenge. "I guess I'm concerned about what's going to happen," he said.

"With Hoshi?"

Travis's nodded. "Yeah, she's been real stressed since this happened," he said, not wanting to elaborate.

"Yes, her concern for Lieutenant Reed is worrisome."

Travis's head shot up. "You know?"

Phlox smiled. "There's not much I don't notice," he said.

Travis chuckled. "I can believe that."

"Plus, I know Hoshi very well. I see it in her eyes. They make a perfect couple," Phlox said, his face shining with pleasure.

Travis fiddled with his food, suddenly losing his appetite. "I wish there was something I could do," he murmured.

"Just being there for her will do wonders," Phlox told him.

_"Doctor Phlox and Senior Officers to the bridge,"_ Commander T'Pol ordered over the ships comm.

Travis raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he rose from his chair and raced to the bridge with Doctor Phlox by his side.

"I hope this is good news," Travis said as they exited from the turbo lift and saw Daniels standing on the bridge. He cast a concerned look at Hoshi before turning his attention to the future man.

Daniels nodded, sharply. "We found them."

"They're alive?" Hoshi pressed.

Daniels smiled. "Yes, they're alive," he answered.

"And?" T'Pol demanded.

Daniels dropped his shoulders slightly. "They were sent back to 1918."

Travis didn't like the look on his face when Daniels eyed each of them. He held his breath as his continued.

"More specifically - France."

Travis's heart skipped a beat. "World War One!" he gasped.

* * *

"You know, this would go a lot quicker if we stuck to the roads," Trip grumbled.

Since they had left the Australian camp four days previously, the three Enterprise officers' had stuck to forests that somehow had managed to escape the blight of war, but when a situation merited it, they had hid in the trenches. This was one of those times.

Jon chuckled. "Sorry, Trip. It's better if we keep out of sight," he said looking around to ensure the villages that had just passed them had kept going and that they had not been noticed.

"I know, I know," Trip mumbled. "That way we have as little interaction with the people."

"And keeping out of sight of the Germans," Malcolm added.

Jon nodded, distractedly, his mind suddenly elsewhere.

"Capt'n, are you okay?" Trip prompted.

Jon shook his head slightly and looked at him, then at his armory officer. "It's Hoshi, isn't it?"

Malcolm's head spun around. "You know?"

Jon glanced at Trip then back at Malcolm. A smile played on his lips. "I just put two and two together," he said, chuckling.

"Captain—"

Jon held his hand up. "It's okay, Lieutenant." He winked at Trip. "These things happen."

"You're not going to inform Starfleet?" Malcolm asked with surprise.

Jon's smile grew. "I see no reason." He started walking. "You know, I think it's about time that I have a word with Starfleet about onboard relationships," he mused.

Trip grunted. "That's if we get back," he grumbled.

Jon eyed his lover. "We'll get back," he said. He suddenly felt extremely tired and leaned against the tree.

Trip came over to him. "Why don't you rest a while," he suggested.

Jon nodded and with Trip's help, sat heavily on the ground.

"I'll scout on ahead," Malcolm said and turned to leave.

"Hang on Malcolm, I'll join ya," Trip said looking at Jon.

Jon closed his eyes. "Just give me a few minutes, and I'll catch up," he sighed.

As he listened to the sounds around him, Jon rubbed at his side, which continued to ache. He didn't want to admit it, or to show it, especially in front of Trip, but he still felt a sharp pain.

Jon tugged his shirt out of his trousers and looked at the bruise that was finally starting to fade. "I much prefer a phaser wound to this," he mumbled. He'd been shot twice before with ancient weapons, but he had had Phlox's magic potions to help him recover. He pulled out his canteen.

As he took a sip of cool water, he thought about Trip's obsession with keeping him safe. He knew it was because of their escape through the forest. He still could see Trip's guilt when he learned that by carrying him through the night, had caused his injury to worsen.

He shivered when a rush of cold air cut through him. He put the canteen down and blew on his hands to warm them up. When that didn't work, he shoved them in his coat pockets and leaned back into the tree and closed his eyes. He drew in a tired breath "I'll have to talk to him about all of this," he mumbled.

The wind blew again, and with it came the same stench that he experienced when they had first arrived at the hospital compound. He stood and followed the smell for a few minutes until he saw something through a cluster of bushes. Heart beating rapidly, he carefully parted the branches. "Oh god," he gasped, swallowing hard against the bile that rose from his stomach.

Before him was an all too familiar sight. One he had witnessed in the two weeks he had spent recovering. Young men, dressed in the blue-grey uniforms of German soldiers lay in a ditch, their skin rotting away from their bodies. There was a young man, eyes staring into nothing, who had been stripped of his uniform, displaying the full consequence of what had transpired. He swallowed again and quickly looked around him. "Trip," he yelled, backing away slightly.

"Comin'!" Trip called.

As he listened to Trip's heavy footfalls, Jon stared at the rotting corpses, desperate to understand how this happened... why it happened. He tore his attention away from the nightmare image when Trip burst through the bushes.

"Jon, what is—" Trip came to an abrupt halt and stared wide eyed at the confronting scene. "Shit," he whispered.

Jon stared back at the bodies. "Where's Malcolm?"

Trip scrubbed his face. "Checking the area."

Jon listened to Trip's heavy breathing as his lover walked away from the scene. "I hate this place," Trip growled.

Jon looked at him. "I think we should consider ourselves lucky," he said.

Trip raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Jon let his eyes wonder. "When Daniels finally shows up we get to go home—"

"Oh, I doubt Daniels can do anything."

Jon spun around in unison with Trip and looked into the red eyes of the beast standing before him.

"Hello, Captain Archer. At last we meet..."

* * *

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "Ensign?"

"It was a really nasty war, Commander," Travis said.

"All wars are disagreeable, Ensign," T'Pol replied.

Travis nodded. "I know, Commander, it's just that." He quickly glanced around the group, reluctant to voice what he knew.

"Mr Mayweather!" T'Pol prompted, evenly.

Travis turned away from Hoshi's pleading eyes and took a deep breath. "This was the first time in Earth's history where wars were fought tank on tank, and more importantly with poisonous gasses."

"You appear to have considerable knowledge regarding Earth's early times," T'Pol noted.

Travis shrugged. "I've always been fascinated with history," he answered.

T'Pol raised her hand. "Then please explain further," she directed.

Travis leaned on the console. "World War One was where the Germans began to perfect their use of chemical warfare agents in the form of explosives. One of the most popular was mustard gas."

"Mustard gas?" Phlox prompted.

Travis nodded. "Exposure to mustard gas can be lethal. But it doesn't kill quickly," he said, suddenly animated. He paced around the console. "It can take up to two days for the first symptoms to appear," he said. "In the most extreme cases, it could take up to four weeks till they died." He stopped next to Hoshi once again and looked at the commander.

"If they have been exposed to this gas, what are the symptoms?" she asked.

"Well, among other things, they would experience real bad irritation on their skin, red dots which quickly become blisters. It could also affect their breathing." He held his hand out to steady Hoshi when she swayed. "It's okay," he urged, quietly.

T'Pol walked over to them, coming to a stop next to the young woman. Travis got the impression she was quietly supporting his friend. He smiled to himself.

"If they have been exposed, is there a cure?" T'Pol asked.

"Not as far as I'm aware. The use of Mustard Gas was outlawed in 1925," he answered.

The commander looked at Phlox. "Doctor?"

Phlox looked pensive. "Nothing familiar comes to mind. I'll have to search the database, but I'm sure I can find a cure if its required."

"There's no proof that they have landed in any of the war zones," Daniels interrupted. "For all we know they could have landed in the relative safety of Paris."

"God, I hope so," Hoshi said, quietly.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "There is no logic in speculating where they have ended up," she said, gently. She turned back to Travis. "Mr Mayweather, I'd like you to assist Doctor Phlox and research if there is any cure," she ordered.

Travis straightened. He was more than happy to help the doctor.

* * *

Malcolm crouched behind the thickest bush he could find so he could keep a watchful eye on the encounter. It was the first time he had laid eyes on the creature that the captain and Trip had talked about. The way that Trip had described the Na'Kuhl, Malcolm was expecting something more formidable like the Xindi, so he was surprised to discover that they were of a slighter build. Thinking of the Xindi brought Hoshi to his mind. He quickly buried his feelings and kept a steady watch on what was happening.

"Who are you?" the captain growled.

Malcolm stiffened when the alien pulled out a small hand gun and moved closer to his friends. "Sakuts," he said, red eyes glistening with hatred. "Vosk was my brother."

A chill shot up Malcolm's spine. "Shit!" he cursed under his breath as he calculated his opponent, looking for weaknesses. Sakuts may have lacked the size, scales, and color of the Xindi, but there was still something familiar about him. It was how all threatening species carried themselves - straight, confident, threatening.

"What do you mean, before, about Daniels?" the captain demanded.

The Na'Kuhl scowled. "I was trying to take you when something went wrong," he said as he approached the captain and Trip. "One minute I had you in my grasp, the next I wake up on your abominable planet with my crew dead, and no way of getting back to my time or home."

"What do you want?" the captain growled.

Sakuts snarled. "Vosk was a great leader, one I looked up to. He had exciting plans for the Na'Kuhl." He glared at the captain. "And you killed him."

The captain stood straighter, defiant. "I see you have the same penchant as your brother," he said indicating to the German uniform Sakuts was wearing.

Sakuts looked down then back up at the captain. "It's ironic, don't you think, that I should be the one wearing the likeness of my revered brother?

"The look doesn't become you," the captain spat out.

Sakuts shrugged. "What you think means nothing to me." He glanced behind the Starfleet officers. "Besides, I needed something to wear," he said looking back at the captain. "A fortuitous opportunity, don't you think, Captain?"

Malcolm wanted to spit. He knew what was laying among the bushes. He had spotted the rotting bodies as he had neared.

"You did this? Trip said, pointing to the dead soldiers.

"Why?" the captain asked, turning back to Sakuts. "Why would you do this?"

Sakuts laughed. "I needed to make sure this worked," he said, throwing the gun aside and pulling a canister out of his jacket. "It's going to be a pleasure to watch you die... painfully," he added with glee, unscrewing the lid.

Malcolm knew exactly what it was the moment Sakuts pulled the can out. He raced from his hiding spot and rushed at Sakuts, knocking the deadly poison out of his hand as he took the alien to the ground.

"The canister," he shouted a warning when he lost sight of the container as pressed his forearm onto the alien's neck.

"You won't stop me," Sakuts hissed and rolled.

Malcolm was taken by surprise with the agility of the Na'Kuhl and abruptly found himself in the reverse position with Sakuts on top of him, pressing down on his throat. Spots flashed behind his eyes, his head started to throb, as his oxygen began to deplete. He tried moving his hands to get to Sakuts' eyes, but his energy was slowly fading.

Suddenly, the loud report of a gun discharging reverberated in his pounding head and, with a loud gasp, he found oxygen as the alien collapsed heavily on his chest. He cast a quick glance at Trip, who held the gun, and nodded his thanks.

But knowing that time was of the essence, Malcolm didn't waste another second. Wheezing and coughing, he pushed the dead weight off him, jumped to his feet, and stumbled over to the captain.

"What's going on, Malcolm?" the captain shouted.

Breathing heavily, with adrenaline pumping through his veins, Malcolm didn't answer as he grabbed the canister. After satisfying himself that the lid was secured he reached for their backpacks. "Quickly," he barked, frantically throwing the water canteens at his friends. "Splash your eyes and exposed skin with water and try not to take deep breaths," he ordered, though keeping his breathing shallow was proving difficult.

"What the hell is this?" the captain growled as he caught the canteen mid flight and quickly followed Malcolm's instructions.

Malcolm poured the water over his face. "Gas!"

Trip came out of his stupor and followed suit. "What type of gas?" he yelled.

Malcolm kept dousing his exposed skin. "The type that will burn your skin off if you don't do as I say." He wasn't sure how much gas escaped. He could only hope that their exposure was minimal. "Shit," he swore when his skin started to itch...

* * *

To Be Continued...


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you, Honeybee, for baring with me for 2 years. Yes, folks, Never Forget is finally finished. Here are the last 3 chapters.

* * *

Phlox ignored the fussing noise of his menagerie, the chirps and growls of protests that they be fed as he stared at the chemical through his long scope. "What else?" he asked.

Travis shifted on his chair. "It's survivable, but in a worst case scenario, if a person went under a direct attack, and inhaled the gas, it wouldn't take long before their nose and throat to swell. Then the blisters would form, effectively sealing their airway," he answered, reading off the computer.

Phlox added a compound to the slide. He nodded, pleased to see that the structure of the gas was breaking down. "In my experiences with humanity, it's hard to believe how they could create such an appalling chemical to use as a weapon," he mumbled, placing another slide under the microscope.

"Agreed," Travis said. "And from what I've read, it says that they didn't have any treatment for it either," he added.

Phlox grunted. "Surprising, considering the composition of this gas is remarkably basic," he noted. He didn't waver from his experiment when Travis stood and started pacing.

"For us, maybe," Travis answered, turning to Phlox. "But back then, everything was pretty basic, they didn't have the benefit of our technology."

"Except being able to produce chemicals for warfare," Phlox said with just a touch of venom.

"True." Travis returned to his seat. "It says here that during the war approximately two percent of all soldiers who wore a respirator died from their exposure to the gas," he said.

Phlox placed a drop of liquid onto the slide under his scope. "And what about the death rate for those who didn't have a respirator?" he asked, not as pleased with the second experiment as he was with the first.

Travis kept reading. "It says around half."

Phlox finally looked up from his work and met the young man's concerned eyes. "Then let's hope that they haven't been exposed."

Travis nodded. "Agreed."

Phlox looked across sickbay when the doors opened, and T'Pol entered. "Commander," he greeted.

T'Pol stopped in front of him, folding her arms across the front of her body in a familiar stance. "Have you anything to report?" she asked.

Phlox smiled as he stood. "Mr Mayweather has been an excellent assistant," he said.

T'Pol dropped her head to the side. "Agreeable to hear. However, that wasn't what I was enquiring about."

Phlox sighed. "I've been able to, or rather I will be able to, synthesise a gel that will assist the healing of the exposed epidermis, but it's their internal organs that I'm more concerned about."

T'Pol visibly stiffened. "Explain."

Phlox picked up some root leaf lettuce and fed it to his slugs. "If they have had a significant amount of exposure, then their respiratory and digestive systems will be affected."

"In what way?" T'Pol demanded, dropping her arms to her side.

Phlox walked over to her. "I won't go into the gory detail, sufficient to say that they will experience a bloody or runny nose, shortness of breath. They would also suffer from abdominal pain resulting in a fever, nausea and vomiting."

T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "I believe I get the picture," she answered.

Phlox smiled at the human colloquialism as he continued to feed his animals.

"Do you have a treatment?" she asked, looking at the monitor on the wall that showed the doctor's results.

Phlox shook his head slightly. "Not yet."

"We'll be arriving at Earth soon, Doctor," she said with gravity.

The din of his animals seemed to increase as the weight of the universe settled on his shoulders. "I understand. I'm working as fast as I can."

"Keep me informed," she ordered, turning.

As T'Pol left, Phlox looked at Travis, whose features now reflected a determined young man. "Let's hope they haven't been exposed," he repeated and went back to work.

* * *

"Trip, get the medical kit," Malcolm yelled.

Trip's breath came in short, frantic, bouts, his heart raced as he grabbed the backpack off Jon's shoulders. "What am I looking for?" he called as he rummaged through it.

"Tubes, ointments, saline, anything," Malcolm shouted as he continued to pour water over his eyes.

Trip tipped the contents out on the ground in frustration. Malcolm quickly grabbed the ointments. "Slather this over any exposed skin," he directed as he picked up a bottle labelled saline. "And pour this over your eyes."

"What gas was it, Malcolm?" Jon asked as spread the ointment over his hands.

Trip's heart beat faster, and he wished the question hadn't been asked.

"I believe it was mustard gas, Captain," he answered.

"By the look on your face, I'm guessing that isn't good," Trip said, a little anxiously as he spread the ointment on his hands.

"It depends. We should be alright for the moment," Malcolm assured, tossing his head back. "Though, we've probably been exposed to the gas since we've been here," he added.

"Malcolm! That's not very comfortin'," Trip grumbled. "Okay, so what are the effects?"

"I think that can wait," Jon interrupted.

Trip wiped his face. "Okay, so now what?" he asked, looking at Jon. Trip took a breath. "Maybe we should head back to the first aid station," he suggested.

Jon nodded. "We might find something sooner, but at least we'll be heading toward help."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there isn't a lot they can do now," Malcolm told them.

Trip's chest tightened. "There must have been some type of treatment?" he challenged.

Malcolm dropped his head, slightly. "Sorry, Trip," he said. "We've already done what we can."

Trip clenched his jaw. "So, we can't get help." He turned to Jon again. "What are we going to do?"

"I was thinking, Captain," Malcolm interjected. "What if we can find Sakuts' vessel? We may find some answers?" he suggested.

"We'd have to find it first," Trip noted.

"If we head back the way we came, when we were first transported here, we might have a chance," Jon mused. He looked at Malcolm. "Do you know where that was?"

Malcolm nodded. "I believe I can lead us safely to Dernancourt," he said.

Jon looked around. "Okay, let's do that."

"What about Sakuts?" Trip asked, glancing at the dead alien, a sentient being that he had just shot.

Malcolm walked over to the motionless body and crouched down. He shook his head when he felt for a pulse. "He's dead!"

Trip dropped his head and took deep breaths. He could still feel the gun burning in his hand - feel the recoil as he shot the weapon. He had never killed before, not as far as he knew. Whenever he had to fire a weapon he had always had the setting on stun, so now he was a killer. He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You had no choice," Malcolm told him.

Trip nodded, swallowed hard then looked at Jon. "What do we do with him?" he asked. "We can't take him with us, might get noticed with that."

"Cremate him," Malcolm suggested. Though he said it almost silently, Trip saw the distaste at the thought.

Jon shook his head. "That might draw unwanted attention."

"Then what?" Trip asked.

"We'll just have to hide his body as best as we can until we can do something more permanent," Jon finally said.

Trip looked around. Apart from a few bushes, he didn't see where they could hide a creature like Sakuts. "There isn't much here," he said.

Jon turned around slowly, eyeing the area. Trip followed his gaze when he stopped. He closed his eyes and groaned. "You're not serious, are you?" When Jon met his eyes, Trip's shoulders sagged.

"I'll take care of it, Sir," Malcolm offered.

"We can all help," Jon said.

Trip cast a quick glance at the dead soldiers before looking back at Jon. "We'll take care of it," he said, indicating to Malcolm.

"Trip—"

"Ah!" Trip interrupted, thrusting his tongue against his cheek. He pointed at Jon. "When you stop grunting every time you move then you can help," he told him then stormed over to Malcolm to carry out the repulsive task.

Trip took shallow breaths, trying to limit the stench of the decomposing bodies surrounding him from invading his senses as they quickly went to work. He tried to avoid looking into the glazed over eyes of the young man he stood over. He held back a groan of revulsion when he took the cold, rotting, arms of the soldier stripped of his clothes. He kept his eyes averted from the vulnerability of the young man's naked body, left exposed to the elements as he dragged him away.

Trip started to tremble, and it wasn't from the exertion. He was overwhelmed with everything that had happened. He hated this place, hated everything about it, the displaced, the injured, the dead – children who would now grow up without a father.

He jumped when something grabbed his arm. He looked up and gazed into Jon's eyes. The understanding and need in he saw in them stabbed at his heart, but soothed his soul. This time, he didn't object when Jon took the dead man's other arm and pulled him clear.

They worked in silence until Sakuts body disappeared under the Germans and covered by the surrounding shrubs.

Despite the cool air, Trip wiped the sweat from his face. He closed his eyes and gulped down water from his canteen, desperate to wash away the taste of death.

"You okay?"

Trip nodded at his partner. "Let's get out of here," he said, putting his canteen away.

With their trap executed, the three officers walked out onto the dirt road and headed back the way they had come.

"Let's hope that now Sakuts is dealt with that Daniels will make an appearance," Jon said.

"If what Sakuts said was true, then we might not have a way of getting home," Trip pointed out.

"We'll get back, Trip," Jon tried to reassure.

"I sure hope you're right," he said as they came to a T junction in the road.

"Well, if't t'ain't our covert friends."

Trip cocked an eyebrow at Jon and smiled at the familiar voice. He turned to Clancy. "Nice to see you too," he greeted.

"Missing us already, are ya?" Jack said, with a bright smile.

The Australians. The one bright spark that made being in this century bearable. "You know us too well," Trip retorted.

He looked past their friends, and for the first time noticed the thousands of soldiers marching with their heavy backpacks, guns held closely to their chests. However, Trip noticed some missing. "Where's Eddie and Harry?"

"They're on their way," Jack answered.

"Where are you off to, then?" Smithy asked.

"Back to Dernancourt," Malcolm answered.

"Ahh, that'd be a wrong choice," Clancy drawled.

"What's going on?" Jon asked.

"Fritz are advancing. We don't have our orders yet, that's why we're waiting on Harry. All's we know right now is that we're heading for Villers-Bretonneux..."

* * *

Enterprise dropped out of warp, just within reach of Earth. On the bridge, Hoshi held her breath, her pulse raced. They were so close.

"Put it up on the viewscreen," T'Pol ordered.

Within seconds, the view of earth filled the screen.

Hoshi turned to Daniels. "How do we get back to the past?"

Daniels smiled. "We're already there," he answered.

T'Pol stood from the captain's chair. "Were you able to determine their location?"

Daniels looked up from his quantum discriminator. "I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly where they are, but they're approximately near a place call Amiens." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

T'Pol turned her attention to Hoshi. "Scan for their biosigns," she ordered.

"I've been scanning since we arrived," she said. "There's just too much ground to cover."

"Keep trying," she ordered, turning back to the viewscreen.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the naked land as the group arrived at their destination. Across the open fields, and beyond the forest, Malcolm could see the village of Villers-Bretonneux. Around him, thousands of Australian soldiers talked quietly among themselves as they settled into trenches. All appeared calm.

Malcolm buried himself deeper into his coat and shivered. "I don't like the feel of this," he said under his breath.

"Where's the lieutenant?" Jack called as he checked his weapon.

"Right here," Harry answered as he approached his men with Eddie at his side.

Harry nodded at Malcolm. "Looks like you've had a rough trot," he noted, indicating to Malcolm's throat.

Malcolm massaged the still aching area. "You could say that," he mused.

"Did you get your bad guy?" Eddie asked.

"We did," the captain answered.

"So, before you tell us our orders," Jack interrupted.

Malcolm glanced around the group, smiling impishly, and waited for the banter to begin.

Jack approached Eddie. "Harry tells you everything," he said.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry, cocking his head to the side. "He does?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did Sheela say yes or not?"

Eddie slung his arm over Harry's shoulder. "Me to know. You to find out," he answered, laughing along with Harry.

"Well, Lieutenant, what's our orders, then," Clancy piped up, breaking the mood.

Harry sighed and indicated to his men to gather around. He eyed each one of them as they waited to hear their orders. "The Germans have re-taken Villers-Bretonneux," he said. "Our orders are this. We'll be attacking at twenty two hundred hours from the south, 14th Battalion will be attacking from the east. They'll be no prelim attack -"

"What?" Smithy objected.

"Well, stone the bloody crows," Tommy added.

"We nought go without a prelim," Clancy protested.

"That's our orders, lads," Harry said, looking at his men. "We've held the Germans before, we can do it again," he encouraged. He cocked an eyebrow. "Consider yourselves lucky. I heard the British generals wanted us to start in broad daylight."

"That'd be right," Jack grumbled.

Eddie chuckled. "Don't worry. Pompey put an end to that quick smart," he said, standing to attention. "If God Almighty gave the order, we couldn't do it by daylight," he mimicked the general.

The man in question, Brigadier-General Harold 'Pompey' Glasgow, drew near the group silencing them. He came to a stop and stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back.

"It's of vital importance to push the Germans out of Villers-Bretonneux," he shouted to be heard by all. "If we don't then they have the chance to advance on Amiens then onto Paris and the war will be lost." He paused and started pace. He turned to his men again. "Nothing will stop you from getting to your goal," he continued. "Kill every bloody German you see. We don't want any prisoners." He stopped again and stood tall. "And, God bless you." With that, the general turned and headed back to his post.

"You heard the man," Harry ordered. "Onya bikes."

Malcolm tried to dredge up the history regarding this second battle, it was right at the edge of his mind, but for the life of him couldn't quite put his finger on it. He followed behind the soldiers, along with Trip and the captain as they made their way to the trenches. Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. "Damn!" he cursed.

"What is it?" the Captain asked.

Malcolm tried keeping his face neutral, but knew he wasn't succeeding. "In the second battle of Villers-Bretonneux, the Australians were vastly outnumbered, some said it was an impossible plan," he told them. He tried to swallow but his throat had suddenly dried up.

"What type of numbers, Malcolm?" Trip demanded.

Malcolm met his eyes. "Four thousand Australians went up against twenty-five thousand Germans," he told them. He suddenly found it hard to catch a deep breath, but continued nonetheless. "The Australians lost nearly half of their soldiers. From memory, about twelve hundred personnel-"

"Then we've got to stop it," Trip argued.

"We can't interfere, Trip," Malcolm countered turning to the captain for support. "We can't interfere."

* * *

Hoshi's heart skipped a beat. "I've been able to narrow down their life signs," she advised, trying to keep her excitement in check.

T'Pol rose from the captain's chair and nodded.

Hoshi pressed a button and, slowly, the area she was referring to appeared.

"Increase the resolution," T'Pol ordered.

Hoshi pressed another button. She stifled a gasp as the decimated area loomed large on the screen. The land had been laid to waste, trees stripped bare of their leaves, whole towns destroyed.

"Try hailing them," T'Pol ordered, without taking her attention from the viewscreen.

* * *

The sun dipped below the horizon as they followed the Australians down the trenches.

Jon glanced at Malcolm. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Malcolm nodded. "I don't want this to happen any more than you do—"

"But maybe this is the reason why we were sent to this timeline, to stop this from happening," Trip offered.

"Our being here has nothing to do with changing things," Malcolm contradicted.

Jon's heart broke as his lover looked at him then at Malcolm with pleading eyes.

"Sakuts already changed things, so why can't we stop it?" Trip pleaded glaring at Malcolm. "Why can't we help?"

"And do what?" Malcolm argued, shaking him gently. "Trip, we're not soldiers, there's nothing we can do," he urged.

Jon grabbed Trip's arm when he ignored Malcolm and tried to barge pass him. He pulled him close and searched his eyes. "This isn't our war," he said, softly.

"No. What this isn't, is fair," Trip seethed.

Trip dropped his head, but not before Jon saw the devastation in his eyes. He tightened his grip and pulled him down further into the trench. He glanced around at the soldiers that were near them. Some had their eyes closed mouthing words only they could hear. Others were busy scribbling on scraps of paper in the quickly fading light before pinning them to the sandbags.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell to the universe to stop what was about to happen. As a captain, he was responsible for the safety of his crew – his unit. Having to stand back and do nothing went against every grain of his nature. It was killing him inside that he could do nothing. He drew a shaky breath. "I know how you feel, Trip," he said, gently. "But, Malcolm's right. We can't interfere."

His stomach muscles clenched when he felt Trip's body tremble under his touch. He observed his lover quietly as Trip struggled to come to terms with what they were about to do, or rather, what they were not about to do.

"One minute," a young man called softly as he hurried through the back of the line. "One minute," he repeated as his ran in the depths of night, touching the shoulders of the Australian's as he did.

A small wave of movement began as the soldiers readied themselves for battle. Jon took that last minute to reflect on his time with the Australians that he now called friends.

They had all found common ground with each other in the weeks they had spent together.

Like a movie playing out before him, Jon recalled how Malcolm and Harry had spent endless hours in lively discussions about weaponry and cricket, while Eddie had regaled Trip about his adventures in the outback.

He remembered how Smithy had used his bowie knife to whittle away on a piece of wood until he had created absolutely... well, nothing. The way Jack had told his tall tales, according to Tommy, about his exploits with women.

When his eyes fell on Clancy, he remembered the way the cheeky Irishman had taught him the game of two-up, and entertained him with some of the worst Irish jokes he had heard. Their laughter had soothed away the horrors of war.

They had come together, like brothers- family, to share food, comfort, and to pitch in wherever they were needed...

Family... That was what this had been. The Australians - a family that resembled his own on Enterprise.

Jon's eyes met Clancy's who winked as he hefted his big machinegun in his arms. "Good luck," he mouthed.

"Jon!"

Trip's plea, and the sound of their communicators coming to life, was lost to him when, with the roar of gunfire, the first wave of Australians rose as one, and the campaign to push the Germans out Villeirs Brittonair began.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	9. Chapter 9

Warning: Graphic images contained in the chapter.

* * *

T'Pol struggled to keep her emotions in under control as she stood, along with the crew on the bridge, in stunned silence. Before them, playing out on the viewscreen was the unfathomable vision of a war that she had only heard about.

In the close up images, she could see their officers looking distressed and desperate. She wanted to transport them straight out of this situation, but with witnesses around, she had to leave them where they were...

* * *

Thunder. Rolling thunder - never ending, akin to the sound of a thousand horses galloping through the land. Artillery fire, discharged from a distance, blasted its way into the Australian lines, shaking the ground underfoot.

The din of gunfire, like heavy rain falling on a tin roof, spewed its intentions - tracer bullets streaming through the night, cutting down the first wave of Australians as they left the relative safety of the trenches.

Trip stifled a scream - he found it hard to breath, horrified by what was playing out in front of him. Man after man fell silently, blood pooling instantly around them as they lay motionless amongst the chaos. "Oh god!" he gasped.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm breathed when a second wave of Australians, their kit bags banging against their backs, followed the same fate as the first. Their helmets provided little protection when bullets found their mark elsewhere on their bodies.

The Germans, though shooting blindly in the dark were nonetheless finding their targets with deadly accuracy.

"This is a massacre," Trip hissed. He covered his head to protect himself from the stones and mud when a mortar exploded close by, but what he really wanted to do was to cover his ears to block out the sound of bullets whizzing by him, of explosions that rattled his teeth, of men screaming as they lay dying and wounded. But he could do nothing. "Sonofabitch," he swore.

More gunfire, shelling, men yelling directions filled the battlefield as more Australian soldiers were fired upon. Dust, dirt, explosions...

"Still!" someone yelled when verily lights lit up the night sky.

The Australians, lined up for as far as Trip could see, darted behind trees, or dropped into the foxholes, staying statue still. Those who weren't fast enough were thrown back violently as the deadly missiles impacted their bodies.

When it went dark again, the Australians mobilised quickly, continuing their assault. They were relentless, seemingly unstoppable – shooting with accuracy, lobbing grenades, bayoneting the downed German soldiers, surprise the last expression they made. But they were moving forward, forever forward, nothing was stopping them.

Trip's stomach eddied and he swallowed hard to hold back bile as he forced his attention away from the massacre when, over the sound of gunfire, he heard the boom of cannons. In the distance he could see the village lit up by fires and flares as German and Allied tanks volleyed against each other.

He turned his attention back to the battle that continued, relentless... never ending...

Another wave of Australians charged the enemy, but they weren't getting more than fifty yards before they were cut down.

"Over There! To your right!" someone yelled.

Trip watched as a soldier lobbed a grenade in the area indicated and bodies flew in all directions. He wanted to throw up when limbs, severed from their owners, landed some distance away. Blood was everywhere.

"We're pinned down," Paddy screamed.

"We have to get to our objective," Harry ordered.

Eddie crawled over on his stomach to his commanding officer. "Harry!" he yelled. "What are we going to do?"

Harry frantically looked around before setting his eyes on his friend. "Carry out the order. We go straight for the objective," he said.

Eddie shook his head. "We do that and we'll all be killed."

"Suggestions?" Harry demanded.

Eddie studied the disastrous scene. "We need to take out the Fritz nests," he finally said. He stared at Harry. "Collect whoever's left," he pointed at the foxholes that had been turned into mini fortresses throughout the forest. Made with mud and sandbags, they had small apertures in the centre where the deadly weapons were firing from. "We go in there and take out those bloody guns."

Harry ducked when bullets buzzed over them. He looked at Eddie and nodded his consent.

Trip scurried over. "You can't do this," he urged, taking Eddie's arm.

Eddie's face was set with resolution. "If we don't, Trip, then more Australians will die and the Fritz will get through. You've done your bit for the war, let's do ours."

Trip watched with a shattering heart as Eddie joined his unit and they jogged at a crouch to the end of the trench. After waiting for the light to fade, they rose as one and quickly ran to the tree line.

Trip's heart skipped a beat. "I'm not goin' to stand by and watch them die," he growled and rose from his position to follow Eddie.

"No, Trip!" Malcolm yelled.

Trip didn't make it out of the bunker. Instead, he suddenly found himself being tackled to the ground, face first in the dirt, the breath knocked out of him. He spun his head and around and met Jon's eyes. He struggled against him, trying to get to his feet, but his captain held firm.

"Please, Trip," Jon begged.

Trip stared at him with desperation. "We can't—"

"Baby, there's nothing we can do," Jon said, gently.

Trip saw his despair, saw his guilt, but that did little to comfort him.

His scream of outrage did nothing to drown out the battle blazing around him. His fists pounding the sandbags time and time again did little to ease his pain. He felt the tears sting his eyes as he drew a deep breath and twisted his body to watch the carnage before him.

The Australians were still advancing bit by bit, moving through the darkened forest using the flimsy trees as protection as they went, their guns firing constantly.

Harry was shouting and pointing to Clancy, who dropped to his stomach and took aim with his weapon. The explosion of gunfire thundered through the air as Clancy fired. Trip followed the stream of bullets but couldn't make out if Clancy had found his target.

Paddy crawled up to Clancy and handed him another round of ammunition. As Clancy reloaded, Paddy's body jerked and he collapsed to the ground. Trip watched in horror when Jack rose from his position and ran, but he too, fell.

The brown headed Tommy was the next to meet his fate. He was quickly making his way over to Clancy, who was frantically indicating he was low on ammunition, when his body was thrown back with such force that Trip was sure his neck would have snapped.

He watched as Eddie and Harry climbed over the top of their fellow soldiers, pinned down by the enemy gunfire, and made their way to one of the bunkers. Eddie lobbed a grenade into the dugout then, together with Harry, dropped to the ground on his stomach.

Trip's teeth seemed to rattle when the grenade exploded, shooting out flames and creating a plume of smoke as it did. He kept his attention on Eddie, who didn't wait for the dust to clear.

He was instantly on his feet, Harry joining him, and they disappeared inside, it was quickly followed by gunfire, then almost immediately the two men reappeared and continued onto their next target, firing their pistols at the unprepared Germans as they did.

Clancy kept up his cover fire as the two men raced to the next gun emplacement, weaving in and around any obstacles, trees and bodies, in their path. Again, Eddie lobbed a grenade and after the dust settled, raced inside. More gunfire roared, but this time when they exited, Harry appeared to be limping.

"No!" Jon yelled.

Trip followed his gaze, his chest tightened. There, lying among the dead and dying, was Clancy. The cheeky Irishman wasn't moving.

Trip suddenly found himself in the reverse position when he could see Jon's intention. He grabbed his arm and gripped tightly. "Stay with me," he urged.

Jon stared at him, and after a long moment, leant back into the trench. Trip squeezed his hand in support when Jon started to bang his head against the hard surface. He glanced at Malcolm who sat beside him with his head buried in his arms.

Trip turned his attention back to the battle. He didn't think it could happen, but his heart broke just that little further as he watched Eddie and Harry climbed over fallen men, still shooting their hand guns, and disappeared over the horizon...

* * *

The rising sun did little to warm his body as Trip looked around at the bitter scene besieging him. He shivered as he watched the weary soldiers go about their business silently. "This shouldn't have happened," he whispered.

Despite the victory of the night before, there was no carnival atmosphere, no celebrations in the fields, just a sombre silence disturbed by the haunting sound of makeshift crosses being hammered into the ground.

Trip pulled up his collar to keep out the cold and tried to take in the enormity of the losses. "We should have done something," he growled, softly. Feeling Jon's hand on his shoulder he turned and searched his eyes. "We should have done something," he repeated burying the lump in his throat.

"You know we couldn't," Jon said, gently.

Trip could tell Jon was also struggling with the knowledge that they had been powerless to stop the carnage, but it didn't help his own feelings of guilt. Trip closed his eyes and took even breaths. The smell of death hung in the air and the images of the night's battle still raged in his head.

He could taste the iron from the blood that had been spilled by men who had fallen in combat. He could smell the cordite from the guns and bombs that had resounded in his ears for hours on end. He could see Eddie running up the slope with his head down, gun firing, never to be seen again.

Trip's body ached. What happened to -

"Well, I'll be buggered. 25th April," a surprised voice sounded breaking Trip out of his nightmare.

Trip stared in confusion at a young soldier who was crouched down beside one of the crosses with a knife hanging suspended in front of him. He looked at Malcolm for answers.

"ANZAC day," he clarified, sombrely.

Almost reverently, Trip thought.

"ANZAC day?" Jon echoed.

Malcolm looked around at the tableau. "It's the national memorial day Australians observe for their fallen soldiers," he said quietly, then looked at the captain. "It began on April 25th 1915 with the landing of the Australian and New Zealand troops on the west coast of Gallipoli."

"Right, now I remember," Jon said. "The Australians were decimated in that campaign."

"Over twenty-six thousand casualties, just over eight thousand of those were deaths," Malcolm noted. "A high toll at the time for such a young country," he added.

Silence settled between them as the three men continued to watch the surviving soldiers bury their comrades.

Malcolm suddenly snorted. "It's been said that the whole campaign in Gallipoli didn't make one iota of difference with the outcome of the war. How ironic that, exactly three years later, the same thing happened here."

Trip had listened on as he watched the soldiers etch the names of those who died into the crosses that would mark their final resting place. He felt sick. "Ironic is not the word I would use, Malcolm," he said turning away. It was time to leave.

"Trip!" Malcolm called after him.

Trip stopped his retreat and spun around. "What," he growled.

"There is one difference between what happened at Gallipoli and what happened here," he told him, earnestly.

"Yeah! And what's that, Malcolm?" Trip asked. He tried not to let his anger loose, he just couldn't see how thousands of deaths could have served anything, but he was willing to hear his friend out. "I'm sorry, Malcolm," he sighed.

Malcolm nodded as he walked up to him and placed his hand on Trip's arm. "What the Australians did here made a difference to the war."

"In what way?" he asked looking over Malcolm's shoulder to Jon who was moving closer.

Malcolm looked at the captain then at Trip. "It marked the end of the German offensive for the battle of the Somme," he told them both. "They effectively stopped the Germans from advancing to Paris. If they hadn't then the Germans could have won the war.

"So, you're telling me that their deaths will have some meaning?" Trip said not sure if the knowledge made any difference to what he had witnessed or how he felt.

"Exactly!" Malcolm replied, softly.

Trip stared at Malcolm then at Jon. He looked around once more, before turning his back. "I guess I'll have to believe you," he said, sadly.

As he retreated with Jon and Malcolm following closely behind, the words being carved into the white crosses was burning its way into his memory.

25th April, 1918.

"Lest We Forget," he said, softly.

* * *

Phlox observed each man as they quietly went about applying the gel. Lieutenant Reed had his back turned, seemingly avoiding eye contact with anyone. The commander's face was taut and pale. The captain's stiff posture radiated stress that he'd seen only once before in the Expanse - when they were coming to a conclusion in the hunt for the Xindi. Neither of the men talked, not even idle conversation.

"The gel will counteract any effects of the gas," he finally said.

"Thank you, Doctor," the captain responded, curtly.

Phlox sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought. "I've also mixed a counter agent in the ventilation system that will reverse any damage done to your internal organs."

"Thanks, Doc," the commander acknowledged.

Phlox nodded then turned his attention to T'Pol as she approached.

"How are they?" she asked as she stopped near the viewing window.

Phlox followed her gaze. "The captain sustained a bullet wound that I will check once they are out of decon."

T'Pol turned to him. "Were they exposed?"

Phlox nodded. "They were lucky that their exposure to the gas was minimal," he answered.

"Captain," she called. "Commander, Lieutenant. It is agreeable to see you again," she said, bowing slightly.

"T'Pol," the captain responded. "What does Daniels have to say?" he demanded.

T'Pol dropped her head to the side slightly. "I believe the full story can wait until a proper debriefing."

Phlox raised an eyebrow. For as long as he had known her, it still surprised him when she didn't take offence when the captain glared at her for clarification.

T'Pol nodded and moved closer. "He did advise that he is still in the process of repairing his quantum discriminator, which in effect means that any damage caused to the timeline by Sakuts will take time to remedy," she advised, evenly.

"And the ship?" he asked, gruffly.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Everything is well. The crew are relieved to have you all back."

The captain nodded but said nothing as he disappeared into the bathroom with Trip following close behind. Lieutenant Reed bowed his head and went behind one of the partitions.

T'Pol turned to Phlox again. "They appear to be distressed," she noted.

Phlox grimaced. "They have been through a considerable amount of trauma, emotional and physical." he said, looking back to the now empty room. "It will take time for them to recover."

T'Pol followed his gaze. "How long will you keep them here?

"At least twenty-four hours."

"I did a lot of reading," Phlox said, breaking a long silence.

"And?" T'Pol answered, keeping her attention forward.

Phlox turned away. "Mr Mayweather was right. This was a vicious war."

* * *

The lights were turned to low, allowing the stars to shine through the window, casting a soft glow around the quarters.

Malcolm's head lay in her lap, his body cradled in her arms. Hoshi knew he was hurting, could see it in his eyes, could feel it in his muscles, but all she could do was hold him tight.

"I knew the statistics, but not the human cost," he said, quietly.

Hoshi's heart crumbled when he looked up at her full of despair.

"I knew what was going to happen," he rasped. "I knew good men were going to die, and it killed me that I also knew that I just had to sit there and let it happen."

Hoshi ran her hands through his hair as he went silent for a moment and stared out at the stars.

"Trip and I had a discussion once," he finally mumbled.

Hoshi continued to brush her fingers through his hair. "About?" she prompted, gently.

"What it would be like to go back to the past." He grunted. "I said I wanted to go back to 1588 to watch England defeat the Spanish Armada."

"And now?"

He shifted slightly in her arms as he continued to gaze out the window. "Now? If I was offered the chance to go into the past, I wouldn't touch that offer with a ten foot barging pole." He looked back into her eyes. "Because knowing history and living it?" He cleared his throat. "Are just two totally different animals."

Hoshi held him tighter as he covered his eyes and breathed heavily. She peppered the top of his head with soft kisses. "I'm sorry, Malcolm," she soothed then wrapped her arms tighter around her soul mate, and rocked gently. "I'm so sorry."

Malcolm dropped his arm. "I love you," he whispered.

Hoshi's heart skipped a beat as she silently reached up and unclasped the chain from around her neck. She let their symbol of hope fall into the palm of her hand - the silver glinting in the light as she slid the ring onto Malcolm's finger.

She kept her attention on Malcolm as he rolled onto his knees and followed her lead.

The warmth of his hand, held tightly in hers', sent a thrill through her body. Her breath caught when he leaned in and kissed her passionately. Her blood raced when he tilted back and gazed into her eyes.

"For the future," she breathed.

* * *

"I appreciate your honesty, T'Pol." Trip said. "It explains a lot."

When silence filled the room, and he continued to stare out his window, T'Pol contemplated if she had done the right thing, explaining her past actions. "I understand if you do not wish to discuss this right now. That you have other priorities," she told him.

Trip cast a glance at her reflection. "Meaning?"

T'Pol stepped closer. "You have formed a relationship... a bond, with the captain."

Trip finally turned to her. "How do you know?"

There was no anger or accusation in his voice, just a curiosity. "Vulcans may not show emotions, but we are sensitive to them."

Trip smiled. "Your mother told me the same thing once," he said.

T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "She was wise."

She watched him carefully as he turned back to stare at the stars. She could sense his distress. "You have been through a great ordeal," she said, softly, taking another step closer. "Would you like to discuss what happened?"

Trip rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I can put into words how I'm feelin' right now," he said turning to her. "Jon and I have built something. I'm not sure where it's going." He cast a glance around his quarters before looking back at her. "And we went through something down there, something that has changed my perspective on things. I want to honor what happened."

T'Pol sensed no anger, no disharmony toward her. She nodded slightly and turned to leave.

"T'Pol!"

She turned back.

"I do care for you, and I care deeply, it's just..."

A rare smile graced her face. "As you would state, we shall always remain friends."

* * *

He switched off the shower and stepped out onto the cold tiles. He didn't bother with a towel as he stood in front of his mirror, studying his face, water dripping down his body.

Jon closed his eyes and was immediately accosted by memories. Memories of a mother - covering her dead child in a destroyed town. The memory of a soft touch on his cheek from a young girl wanting her dad. He inhaled and smelled the stench of rotting bodies, the smoke, and the blood of young men, soldiers on both sides, spilled across the battlefield.

He remembered the way his whole body twitched when he watched as Clancy had risen to his feet, only to have his head snap back as a bullet entered his forehead and he collapsed to the ground on his gun.

His eyes flew open and looked down. "Shit!" he swore and jumped back from the blood that was pooling at his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut before looking again. "Get a grip, Captain," he growled when all he saw was water.

He slammed his hands on the side of the basin before storming out of the bathroom and over to his bed. As he collapsed onto the mattress, and dropped his head on the pillow, Porthos jumped up and curled against his hip.

He didn't answer when the door chimed; he wasn't in the mood to talk. When he heard the override code being entered, he covered his eyes with his arm and resigned himself that he would have company, Trip, Phlox, maybe even T'Pol. "Too bad," he mumbled when he remembered he was still naked.

He didn't move when the door opened and Trip entered, recognised by his scent, an aroma that Jon had missed in the last three weeks.

He kept his arm where it was when the mattress shifted as he sat down. It was only when Trip took his hand and squeezed tightly that he uncovered his eyes and gazed at his lover.

As the tug of muscle on his lips turned down, he returned Trip's hold, squeezing tightly, centring himself in his touch.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: There are heroic feats in every war. This is just one of them...

* * *

The sky was crystal blue; the air crisp and cool. The sun cast its warm glow down on her charges. The Australian monument, shaped like a T with a giant tower in the centre, stood tall and proud, keeping watch over those in forever sleep.

The bottle hissed, releasing its gasses, as he cracked open the beer, Australian made, and raised it to the sky. "Cheers," Trip saluted and took a sip. He rested the bottle against his knee as he looked around the grounds. The land had long ago healed from the battles, the grass was once again green and fertile, the row upon row of white headstones the only indication that wars had been fought there.

His eyes fell on the monument once more. A lump formed in his throat as he read some of the names etched on the white walls. Thousands upon thousands of men who didn't make it home.

Next to him, Jon stood tall in his dress uniform, as did Malcolm. Hoshi, Travis, and Doctor Phlox stood by their sides observing quietly. On his other side, T'Pol, dressed in her Starfleet blue jumpsuit, had opted to also wear her ceremonial gown. Its brown pattern flecked with gold and black trim, hung neatly on her petite body. Around her neck was the symbol of hope her mother had passed onto her. The IDIC.

T'Pol moved up beside him. "I took the liberty to call up the historical records regarding this battle."

Trip looked at her with hope. "And," he asked, his voice slightly breaking.

T'Pol took out a PADD from beneath her tunic, turned it on and began reading. "With their unit all casualties Lieutenant Clifford and Sergeant Stokes had little option but to..."

T'Pol's voice faded into the background as Trip closed his eyes. He could hear gunfire and explosions; could smell the smoke hanging in the air. And he could hear voices from long ago, but only heard yesterday, transcend down through the ages...

* * *

He ducked again. "You alright?" Eddie yelled to be heard over the ongoing cacophony of explosions and gunfire.

Harry glanced at him. "What?"

Eddie pointed to his thigh. "You're bleeding, Harry!"

Harry looked down. "Aww, shit!" He fingered his wound. "The ugly bastard shot me point blank."

"I noticed," Eddie said as he checked around them. Smoke from fires sparked by the explosions drifted through the forest, creating an eerie sight as soldiers from both sides advanced on each other, fighting one on one in hand to hand combat. He checked on Harry. "You good?"

Harry nodded. "Bloody oath, mate!"

Eddie scouted the way ahead, trying to calculate what the best course was to the next gun emplacement. Seeing a small opening, he pointed in the direction. After counting to three, Eddie took a deep breath and ran.

Despite his wounded leg, Harry kept up with Eddie as the two friends raced up the hill. They were forced to use the trees as camouflage to dodge the endless hail of bullets. When another verily light exploded overhead, they quickly dropped into a newly created fox hole.

Eddie grunted, the air knocked from his lungs as he threw himself to the ground. He straightened his tin helmet and stared at Harry through the sweat that stung his eyes. "Fucking Fritz!" he swore. "Wish they'd stop with the bloody flares!"

Harry's face, covered in sweat and mud, creased into a smile. "Maybe that should be our next objective," he roused.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe it should be," he said.

Their attention was drawn to a machine gun nest to their left. The constant blaze of gunfire that disgorged through the small opening was doing a lot of damage to the Australian soldiers as they forced their way through the forest.

"Our next target," Eddie growled with determination as he watched more Australians fall casualty to the war. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled to his feet and raced to the fortress with Harry at his side, still firing their pistols at any stray Germans who appeared anywhere near their path.

Harry ran to one side of the bunker, Eddie ran to the other. Breathing heavily, he took a step forward and tossed a grenade through the gap. Sandbags disintegrated on impact, others flew high in the air before landing explosively on the ground.

Through the resulting smoke and chaos, both men ran to the back and breached the doorway with their guns firing. Eddie quickly analysed the scene as they entered.

One German was slumped over the machine gun, the others appeared to be disorganised, surprised by the unexpected invasion. As the Germans fumbled for their pistols, Harry and Eddie fired, giving them little chance to defend themselves.

Eddie grabbed the abandoned weapons and ran outside. He quickly dropped to the ground behind a tree to wait for Harry. For a moment, he spared a glance behind him in time to watch three Germans rise from their position, only to be stopped by a hail of bullets, their bodies doing a macabre death dance as they were riddled with holes before falling to the ground.

He turned back in time to watch in horror as Harry spun when a bullet hit him. "God dammit!" Harry barked as his gun dropped to the ground and he fell on his knees.

Eddie scrambled over to his friend, his alarm growing when he saw the blood pouring through Harry's fingers. "You okay?"

Harry shook his head. "My arms numb." He stared at Eddie. "I can't hold my gun."

Eddie's chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. They were so close to their goal, and now...

"Get Jack—"

Eddie shook his head as he shot a look back.

Harry followed his gaze and dropped his head. He looked back at Eddie. "Is there anyone left?"

"No," he answered, curtly, too stunned by the losses to say anymore. He tried to keep focussed as he rummaged through Harry's backpack for the med kit, but he was finding it hard.

"Eddie!"

He looked up.

Harry's eyes darkened. "It's up to you."

Eddie swallowed hard as stared at his injured friend. The unspoken crossed between them. He knew what he had to do.

"She'll be right, mate," Harry assured.

Eddie steeled himself and squeezed his friend's good arm. "Stay low 'til help arrives," he said getting ready to move. "I'll see ya back at camp."

Eddie secured the extra stick grenades that he had procured from the Germans around his waist. He scouted ahead, and without further words, rose and advanced to his next target.

He propelled himself to the ground again, throwing his arms over his head, when an explosion erupted close by. He waited until the mud and rock that was bombarding his back to abate before moving.

Determined, Eddie kept low to the ground as he inched forward. Laden down with the extra kit, he was finding the going tough. Dust stung his eyes, twigs and leaves tried to make their way into his throat as he crawled over the hard, unforgiving, ground until he reached his next target.

Wasting little time, he withdrew two grenades and lobbed them inside the bunker then ran to the back and opened fire on any survivors. Ensuring no one moved, he checked for his next target. His tired body was relieved to see that only two bunkers remained.

As he bent over for a few seconds, gulping in air, Eddie was heartbroken to see all the dead bodies strewn through the forest. Noting that most were German didn't do much to relieve the anger that so many of his friends had died. He fuelled that anger inward, and scrambled up the hill to repeat what was now an appalling routine.

He kept firing his pistol as he ran until he reached his goal. After lobbing his explosives inside, he raced behind to finish the job. This time, though, there was a blood smeared German ready with his rifle.

"Shit," Eddie swore when he went to fire only to hear the death click of an empty pistol. Heart beating in his ears, Eddie threw the useless gun aside and charged his enemy with a roar. Without thinking about it, he ran the German soldier through with his knife.

He ignored the blood around him and gulped in air as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. He was desperate for water. But the tracer fire streaking across his line of trajectory, reminded him he wasn't done yet.

"One more," he muttered, breathlessly. He took the German pistol lying on the ground before he crawled to his next, and final, target.

The sound of war - the bullets that whistled by his ear, the explosions that rocked the round beneath him, seemed to crescendo – coming to a climax, as Eddie advance, his adrenalin fuelled veins pushing him forward until he reached his final objective.

His heart hammered against his chest, reverberating all the way to his throat. He swallowed and ignored the yelling, the screaming - the sound of men dying, as he concentrated on his last mark.

The rata-tat-tat of the gun was warm against his cheek as he threw his last grenade, silencing the weapon instantly. He could hear one of the Germans yelling, but ignored his urgent voice and threw himself around the back of the bunker and fired his pistol until no one moved.

Breathing heavily, he stumbled outside what was left of the bunker and collapsed to the ground, his legs finally giving up the fight. His pulse raced, his chest heaved. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

He turned his attention to his comrades and smiled as he watched the Australians, now coming under less fire, complete their mission and forged through. He closed his eyes again and listened to the sounds of combat.

"Well done, cobber."

Eddie smiled at his fellow soldier. He forced his fatigue aside and pushed himself to his feet to re-join his battalion as they continued their advance into Villiers-B...

* * *

"...though running an hour behind schedule, the 13th Brigade met up with the 14th and, using a pincer movement, entered the village..."

T'Pol's voice returned.

"Where they fought from house to house until they successfully pushed the Germans out of Villers-Bretonneux."

Trip opened his eyes and stared at the monument. He could still see the faces of those he called friends.

"A British General noted that the ANZAC's attack was perhaps the greatest individual feat of the war," T'Pol concluded.

"What about the others?" Jon asked, his voice low.

T'Pol turned to him. "None of the men you referred to survived," she said, gently.

Trip laid his hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, softly, knowing he was thinking of Clancy.

"But Harry and Eddie did?" Malcolm asked.

T'Pol bowed her head, slightly. "They were both repatriated back to Australia, and lived out their normal lives."

Trip smiled sadly as he placed the near full bottle of beer down next to the six pack at the base of the monument then took a step back. He looked around one last time before standing tall with his fellow Enterprise crew, their shoulders squared, as they observed a moment of silence. They raised their hands as one and saluted the memory of those who never made it home.

As they turned to rejoin Enterprise, Trip recalled the words written above every whiteboard in every school of Villers-Bretonneux that they had visited earlier - N'oublions jamais l'Australie...

"Never Forget Australia..."

* * *

The end...

Author's note:

The battle scenes you have just read are based on actual events. I have tried my best to honor the ANZAC's who went up against the odds and won.

"For the Fallen"

by Lancaster

(born poet Laurence Binyon)

1869-1943

They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old.

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Lest We Forget...


End file.
